


In the In-Between

by christinebeckel



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-08 19:15:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 111,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7769848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/christinebeckel/pseuds/christinebeckel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexa’s dead. Clarke watched her die. Twice. And now the whole damn world is dying too. But none of that matters. Because even though Lexa is dead (doubly dead), she can’t be gone. She can’t be. And all Clarke can think about is finding a way back to her. And if she happens to save the world in the process... That’s just a bonus, really.<br/>Octavia’s ANGRY. She’s hurting, broken, lost. She’s empty and afraid. And she doesn’t know how to fix any of it. She doesn’t know how to fix herself.<br/>Raven’s a genius who loves science. She's the best friend anyone could ask for. And people keep asking her to save the world, but Raven just wants to go for a damn run.<br/>Indra knows she’s a great warrior. She doesn’t know she’s an even better leader.<br/>Clarke, Octavia, Raven... Indra, Abby, and Luna... They're all stubborn women. And stubborn women make the world a better place.<br/>Bellamy's clueless. He never understands. He doesn’t know how to deal with stubborn women. And he just likes to shoot people.<br/>Murphy's a smart-ass, who despite his best efforts, can never say ‘no,’ to a stubborn woman.<br/>And Jaha? He’s locked in a cell and doesn’t utter a single word.<br/>My season 4 of t100 where happy endings do exist</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Breaking

**Author's Note:**

> This is my Season 4 of the 100. And it’s for all who feel like they barely survived the shipwreck of season 3 and now, as season 4 approaches, feel like they are sitting in a lifeboat drifting in the sea of indecision “waiting for an absolution that will never come.” (-Rose from the Bitanic... Duh).  
> This is my ending to the story that has ruined my life for the past 5 months. Because I needed an ending, and I sure as hell don't trust Jason to give me a satisfying one.  
> Because I believe stubborn women deserve to smile. But Jason just likes to watch them cry. 
> 
> And for anyone who is only here for Lexa... Skip forward to chapter 31 . I won’t be offended... This whole damn story was just one big excuse to write that chapter.
> 
> PS... Warning: There are some moments of extreme, bitter grieving scattered throughout this story. You can blame Jason for turning all of my favorite characters into broken messes. But ultimately, this is a story about finding hope, healing, forgiveness, friendship, and reconciliation.
> 
> PSS... Don't look too closely at the science. Raven's a genius, but I'm not. I tried, but I did most of my research on Wikipedia. But I figured that's probably more effort than the actual writers put into the science of the show... so if they can completely disregard the basic laws of physics, chemistry, and biology, so can I, right?

1  
Breaking

CLARKE

“You don’t look like someone who just saved the world.” Bellamy said with a small smile, an even smaller chuckle. Clarke knew he was trying to comfort her. He wanted her to laugh too. He wanted her to smile. But Bellamy could not make her laugh. Bellamy could not make her smile.

“I didn’t.” Was all that she said in reply. He frowned, his eyebrows furrowing, looking confused at her words. Red and black lines divided his forehead where dried blood and grime collected in the creases of his skin. She considered him, a sad frown crossing her own face. She could elaborate. She could tell him what ALIE had just told her. How the world was falling apart again. How everything was going to shit again. But she didn’t want to. Not now. The world around her was always going to shit and she couldn’t deal with it right now. 

The world could wait. It could fall apart later. Because right now, it was HER turn. It was HER goddamn turn to fall apart. Hadn’t she earned that right? She was always the one fixing the mess. Now, she just wanted to be the mess. 

She took a deep breath, her entire body aching with the effort, and let out a long, tired sigh. Everything ached. She felt weak, drained. She felt nauseous. Her stomach churned and her head pounded like she had downed an entire vat of Jasper and Monty’s Unity Day “punch.” Her hands were still trembling slightly. Black blood still trickled slowly from her nose. She couldn’t blame her body for rejecting Ontari’s blood. She wondered if Ontari’s body had always felt this shitty. It would explain why she had been such a bitch.

But as much as her body throbbed, as much as her organs and muscles and bones and flesh hurt, there was an ache deeper inside Clarke that was far, far worse. 

She was not the only one hurting. All around her, moans and groans pierced the air as people returned to their rightful selves, as if awaking from a dream. And it seemed, at least for the moment, that they were not Grounders and Sky People. They were just people. People awash in pain. 

Clarke looked around the room, watching as the others helped each other up off the stone floor. She watched as they comforted each other, embraced each other. Kane was draped gently around her mother’s shoulders like a blanket. Miller and Bryan held hands so tightly that it seemed neither boy would ever dare let go. Even Murphy, who Clarke had once thought was only capable of hatred and malice, was wrapped around a girl, clutching her like she was the only thing keeping him grounded, keeping him on his feet.

Like Clarke, everyone around her was hurting, most of them feeling the pain wrack their bodies for the first time in days or even weeks. But Clarke knew that the pain was part of what made them human. It was part of life. And, looking around the room now, Clarke also knew that it was the ability to share your pain, to help bear it for one another, that made life worth living. Without pain there would be no compassion, no understanding, no forgiveness, no grace, no sacrifice, no love. 

Clarke wanted to feel happy for the people around her. She would do anything for the people in this room. Hadn’t she already done everything for them? But at this moment all she could feel was her own pain. Because pain was designed to be shared. And she was in a room full of people. And she was alone. 

But she was not the only one who was alone. Across the chamber, Octavia stepped up to Pike, a hollowness in her hazel eyes. He stared at her, neither backing away nor moving forward. His face was expressionless, like he was patiently waiting for her to act. But there was something in his eyes. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t remorse. It was understanding. It was resignation.

In a flash, Octavia plunged her sword into Pike’s chest. Shocked silence filled the room as everyone’s eyes fell on her. But her hollow eyes remained only on Pike as she slowly, wordlessly drove the blade deeper into him. Then she pulled the sword free of his flesh, turned, and walked away as Pike crumpled to the floor behind her. 

Beside Clarke, Bellamy called out to Octavia. She ignored him and Clarke grabbed his wrist as he started after his sister.

“Let her go.” She said as Bellamy once again frowned at her in confusion.

Bellamy still did not understand. He still thought he could talk to his sister. He still thought he could make things right. But Clarke knew that was impossible. Things between them could get better. But they would never be right again. 

Clarke knew that Lincoln had been Octavia’s sanctuary. In a world where she had never quite fit in anywhere, never quite belonged anywhere, he had been her home. He had been her safety, her comfort, and above all, her hope. And all of that had been ripped forever from her hands by a single bullet. And Bellamy could never understand that kind of loss. 

Clarke had not known Gina. Perhaps she had no right to doubt the depth of the relationship between Bellamy and Gina. After all, Bellamy’s grief at losing her had been the reason behind his blindly following Pike, right? But whatever Bellamy had had with Gina, Clarke knew it could not compare to what Octavia had found in Lincoln. Bellamy’s eyes were not hollow. He was not broken.

Lincoln had been the only one who had truly understood Octavia. The only one who had made her feel wanted. The only one who had seen who she was, who she truly was deep down. He hadn’t looked at her and seen the mistake that was kept hidden beneath the floorboards for years. He hadn’t seen a silly teenage girl playing at being a warrior. He hadn’t seen a naive little girl in need of constant guidance or protection. He had looked at her and seen her strength. He had seen the potential of the person that she could be. He had seen the value and the beauty of the person that she already was. Clarke had witnessed the way Lincoln had looked at Octavia... As if she held all the light and beauty of the stars and all the warmth and power of the sun and all the mystery and wonder of the moon inside of her. And Lincoln had gazed at her long enough that Octavia had started to believe what he saw in her and she, too, had started to see the light in herself.

And now that Lincoln was gone, Octavia’s light had gone out. She was empty. She was drowning. She was lost. And Bellamy could never understand that. But Clarke could. Yes, Clarke could.

Because Clarke knew what it was like to be seen, truly seen by another. Because the way Lincoln had looked at Octavia was exactly the way Lexa had looked at her. And as much as Lincoln had been Octavia’s home, Lexa had been hers. And now SHE was empty too. And SHE was drowning. And SHE was lost. 

And she knew that killing Pike would bring Octavia no peace, just as destroying ALIE had brought Clarke no peace. Because Lincoln was gone. And Lexa was gone. And no amount of revenge could ever fill the gaping holes they had left behind. 

 

Bellamy pulled his wrist free of Clarke’s grip and followed his sister from the chamber. And Clarke shook her head as she watched him go. Because Bellamy would never understand. 

Clarke pulled her eyes from the chamber door and let her gaze fall on Pike. He still writhed on the ground in the crowded chamber, his blood spilling from him and collecting in red puddles on the stone floor. No one moved to help him and within moments he grew still, becoming just another fallen body, just another casualty of this cruel world.

Clarke did not relish his death. But she didn’t mourn it either. Pike had died with blood on his hands. Grounder blood. Lincoln’s blood. Even, in a way, Lexa’s blood. He was not innocent. He was not to be pitied.

Clarke pulled her eyes from his lifeless body and looked down at her own hands. She was not innocent either. She had blood on her hands too. And no amount of water or time could ever wash them clean. She stared at her hands, remembering how she had watched these very fingers trace the lines on Lexa’s back. How at that moment, lying beside Lexa, she had let herself hope, let herself believe, that maybe she could repair all the damage her hands had done. That just maybe she could turn them back into the hands of a healer. That maybe someday she could use them to save, to build, to create, to comfort... To love. 

But within moments her hands had gone from tracing Lexa’s spine and stroking her arm and weaving through the tangles in her hair to pressing against the fleshy hole in her stomach. And once again she had found herself with blood on her hands. And her hands could not bring healing, because all they ever brought was death.

Clarke stared at the dried blood and grime beneath her fingernails and caked in the grooves of her palm. Red and black mingled on her skin so that she could not even say whether it was Ontari’s blood or her own. It didn’t matter. Her hands were stained. Finn’s blood... Lexa’s blood... The blood of warriors and murderers and civilians and soldiers and children and the innocent and the guilty. The blood of the mountain and of the city, and now, maybe of the whole damn world. It all washed off. It all left a stain.

 

Clarke dug absentmindedly into the depths of her cloak and pulled out the flame from the safety of its inner pocket. She wrapped her fingers around the flame, cradling it in her palm as she had done countless times in the past few days. But for the first time it brought her no comfort. The small piece of plastic was cold, rigid, lifeless in her hand. It was not soft and warm. It was not flesh and blood. No matter how tightly she held it, it could never hold her back. 

“I will always be with you.” Lexa’s last words to her still rang in her ears. They reverberated in her chest. The words were hollow, empty. And so was she. Because Lexa was NOT with her. She never would be again. Lexa was gone now. Truly gone. And Clarke was hurting. And Clarke was alone. 

She opened her hand and stared down at the chip that had once brought her solace, once brought her hope. Suddenly she felt hot anger building inside of her, burning the back of her eyes, the back of her throat, threatening to spill out of her. The throne, solid and cold beneath her... The flickering candles scattered about her... The stone floor where Lexa had knelt before her... The bed where Lexa had once lain beside her... Everything in this room, in this building, in this whole damn city, reminded Clarke of Lexa. Everything around her made Lexa’s absence that more evident. And Clarke couldn’t stay here a moment longer. She would suffocate.

 

She rose from the throne and stepped onto the balcony. The cold air hit her like a slap in the face, but it was nothing compared to the coldness inside of her. She stepped to the edge of the balcony, clutching the flame in her hand so tightly that its grooves dug into her flesh. She reared her arm back and swung it as hard as she could. She wanted to send the flame flying into the void. She wanted to watch it plummet to the earth below. She wanted to watch it fall from the sky as she had done so many months ago. She wanted to watch it shatter into pieces on the pavement. She wanted the ground to break it as mercilessly as it had broken her. She wanted to let it go.

Clarke’s arm fell limply at her side. She looked out at the city below her, at the forest surrounding it, at the mountains in the distance, at the endless, indifferent sky above her. She felt so small. She felt so lost. 

A single tear broke free of her lashes and trickled down her grimy cheek. She wiped it away bitterly. But soon the tears were welling, one after another, and she was powerless to stop them. So she let them fall. And she felt herself breaking inside. And for the first time since she had watched the light leave Lexa’s green eyes, she did not try to hold herself together. She fell to her knees and sobbed. And she allowed herself to break. 

And the pain, pure, raw and powerful, exploded from somewhere deep inside of her. A place so deep that she could never reach it. The pain was in her stomach and her chest and in her heart and her lungs and in that part of her that was more soul than flesh. And the pain wracked over her until she was cradling her knees to her chest, rocking herself back and forth, struggling to breathe. And the pain was all around her, crushing her. And the pain was inside of her. And she pulled her knees more tightly against her chest, afraid that she might shatter into a billion pieces. And she was like a star exploding and then caving in on itself and consuming its own flames. And soon she would be nothing but an empty black hole.

And the thought entered her mind that she could end it all. She could leap from this tower and it would all be over in an instant. The pain... The ache... The emptiness... It would all be gone. She would be gone. It would be quick. It would be easy. All she had to do was stand. All she had to do was jump.

But she just wrapped her arms even more tightly around herself. Because deep inside of her, even deeper than the ache, lied the part of herself that she most hated. It was the most stubborn part of herself. It was the part of herself that told her to keep on breathing. It was the part of herself that, despite everything, still clung to life... still clung to hope... As tightly as her fist still clung to the flame.


	2. Done

2  
Done

CLARKE

“Are you excited to be going home?” Bellamy asked the question, but it was Lexa’s soft voice that Clarke heard. In her mind she saw Lexa riding beside her, perched regally atop her horse, effortlessly beautiful. She saw Lexa trying, and failing, to hide the nervousness in her eyes as she waited for Clarke’s response. As always, Clarke had known that Lexa was asking so much more than her words let on. Clarke had wondered if Lexa already knew that she had begun to think of “home” not as a place, but as a person... The person who could make her feel safer than any steel walls or high gate ever could.

Yes, Clarke had already started to think of Lexa as her home. But she had been afraid, too afraid to tell her so. She had not been ready. And so she had replied with “I’m not sure Arkadia is my home anymore.” And those words had been enough to make Lexa smile. Because Lexa could read Clarke just as clearly as Clarke could read Lexa. And Lexa had known what Clarke had wanted to say, what she could not say. And Lexa had known that Clarke was not ready. And Lexa was patient. And she would wait as long as Clarke needed. 

 

“Clarke?” Bellamy cleared his throat, pulling Clarke back to the present. “Are you excited to be going home?”

Clarke tried not to glare at him. She tried to bite back the bitterness in her voice. “No.” She answered. Arkadia was not her home. Polis was not her home. The forest around her... The ground beneath her... The sky above her... None of it was home. Her home was gone now. And Bellamy could never understand that. 

Still, Clarke knew that it was not Bellamy’s fault. And she felt a small tinge of guilt at the confused frown he was wearing once again. She knew she should try to say something nice or something funny. But she could think of nothing. So she bit her tongue and let the uncomfortable silence between them linger like the mist in the air.

She would have apologized. But she still could not find the words. So she just lengthened her stride and pushed past him silently, moving forward to walk beside Octavia and Indra instead. She knew that she could walk beside these women in complete silence and they would expect nothing of her. They would not try to comfort her. They would not force awkward polite conversation on her. She wouldn’t have to put on a fake smile for them. Beside them, she could be sullen. She could be bitter. She could be broken.

Indra was limping slightly. Red circles shone on the bandages Abby had wrapped around her wrists after Octavia had pulled the nails from them and lowered her from the wooden cross. Clarke knew that the woman must be in fierce pain. But Indra was a warrior through and through. And no pain was as fierce as she was. She nodded at Clarke as she fell in step beside her. 

It was hard for Clarke to believe that she had once feared Indra. That the woman walking side-by-side with her now had pleaded for her death on more than one occasion. Now Clarke would trust the woman with her life. Indra had erected walls around her heart higher than the Polis tower. But Clarke realized that if you managed to scale them before she cut you down and threw you to your death, you would find that, inside, her heart was uncommonly soft. Perhaps that was the reason the woman guarded it so fiercely. And Clarke could not help but wonder what pain Indra’s heart had once known. Because Clarke could see it in the shadowy depths of the woman’s dark brown eyes: Indra understood. She had loved Lincoln and she had loved Lexa. And she understood Octavia’s pain. And she understood Clarke’s pain. She understood. 

 

The trees around them were starting to look familiar. Clarke’s mind had wandered so freely as they walked that she was surprised to realize how far her feet had already carried her. She felt a strange twinge in the pit of her stomach as she realized they were now passing within a mile of the dropship. She could turn from the group right now and go tromping into the trees and within minutes the dilapidated remnants of the tattered ship would appear between their branches.. 

Clarke could barely believe that it was only six months ago that she and the hundred had called that ship their home. They had erected tents made of tarps and parachute material. They had built a wall of sticks and mud. And they had cradled their guns in their shaking arms and called themselves “Grounders.” Looking back now, it all seemed so childish. But after all, they had been children, hadn’t they?

Only six months had passed. But they were not children anymore. Clarke had found that the ground had a way of aging you that even Father Time himself could not. And Clarke was not the same girl who had fallen from the sky. None of them were. 

She pulled her eyes away from the direction of the dropship. She had no desire to see it again. She knew the forest was already starting the process of reclaiming it. Soon enough it would be nothing but a twisted chunk of metal rusting in the green, as unremarkable as the unmarked graves beside it where her friends still laid. 

She turned her gaze forward again, back in the direction of Arkadia. They were nearly there. But she had little more desire to see Arkadia than she did the dropship. Neither place felt like home. They were both just pieces of the Ark. And even the Ark, itself, had never really felt like home to her. Arkadia... The dropship... The whole damn Ark... They were all just places she had lived to survive. Maybe that was all that a “home” really was: a place where you survived. But she had dared hope with Lexa that maybe life could be about more than just surviving. Maybe “home” could mean so much more. 

 

No, Arkadia was not home. And she was not excited to be going to it. Not for the first time, Clarke considered the option of not going in. The last time she had approached these gates after pulling a lever, she had turned her back on them and walked off into the trees. But running from her pain had done nothing to ease it. Three months of self-inflicted isolation had done nothing to help her wounded soul heal. And if she had healed at all in the days since then it was Lexa’s doing, not her own.

No, running off into the woods again would solve nothing. She could not run from her pain. She knew that now. So, naturally, her next solution was to find something to busy herself with. A task to distract her. Something to fix.

She considered again the option of going with Octavia and Indra. As soon as Octavia had turned her back on Pike’s dying body and walked silently from Lexa’s room, Clarke had known that Octavia had no intention of ever returning to Arkadia. She had seen it in her eyes... Octavia was not Sky Crew anymore. Clarke wondered if she had ever really been Sky Crew to begin with. Either way, it didn’t matter now. Octavia was done with Arkadia. She only walked with them now because they were headed in the same direction and because Bellamy had pleaded with her. 

But as soon as they reached Arkadia Octavia would be leaving with Indra. And Clarke knew she could go with them. They would let her accompany them on their journey back to the sea, back to Luna. But Clarke also knew that she would be of little help to them. They did not need her. If anyone had a chance of convincing Luna to return to Polis and lead her people to peace, it was not Clarke. It was the two women... The two Grounders... The two warriors beside her.

Ontari had left Polis in a complete mess. In mere days the girl had managed to destroy everything good and beautiful that Lexa had worked to build. Now, in the wake of ALIE’s mess, if the Grounders were going to survive, they needed a new commander. They needed someone wise and compassionate and strong. They needed someone who could hold the Alliance of the Clans together. They needed someone like Lexa. Maybe Luna could be that person.

Yes, Polis was a mess. A mess in need of fixing.

 

“You’re driven to fix everything.” Lexa’s words echoed in Clarke’s mind. She hated to admit it, but, as usual, Lexa’s words had rung with truth. Clarke WAS driven to fix everything. She always had been. And she was only now starting to see that not every problem was hers to fix. Polis certainly was not her mess to fix. And neither was this new problem, this nuclear reactor bullshit. She was finally starting to realize that the world around her would always be one shit-show after another. And she was finally tired of trying to fix that, and everything else. She was tired of failing. And she was even more tired of succeeding.

She was done fixing everything. She would let Octavia and Indra handle Polis. She would let Raven and Monty and anyone else who volunteered figure out the goddamn nuclear crisis. Clarke didn’t want to deal with any of it. More than anything else she just wanted to sit down. She just wanted to breathe. And, with a sigh of resignation, she supposed Arkadia was as good a place as any to do just that.


	3. Moonshine

Moonshine

CLARKE

 

“You look like you could use a drink.” Jasper stated, plopping down beside her with a half empty bottle of moonshine. He plunked a smudged glass down on the table before her but Clarke just reached impatiently past it and snagged the bottle by its neck, wrapping her lips directly around it. The clear liquid burned her throat, filling her stomach with heat, and making her eyes sting. She welcomed its fire. 

“Uhh...” Raven laughed. “I think she could use more than one drink, Jasper. We all could. We’re gonna need more liquor.”

“I’m on it!” Jasper said, rising from the table and limping from the room.

Clarke let out a small sigh of satisfaction, already feeling the alcohol seep into her blood and relaxing her. She handed the bottle to Raven. “You were brilliant, by the way, Raven.”

“Oh, I know.” Raven answered with a cocky smile. She accepted the bottle and took a deep slug. “Of course, I did have a little help.” She added, passing the bottle to Monty.

“Yeah, right.” Monty laughed. “I was busy shooting Jasper in the leg and tying him to a chair. The computer stuff... That was all Raven.”

“Aww, shucks, you guys.” Raven laughed again, snagging the bottle back from Monty. “You’re making me blush.” She took another swallow and offered the bottle back to Clarke. “You weren’t so bad yourself, Clarke.”

“Yeah... Well... I had help too.” Clarke replied. She had tried to hide the sadness in her voice but by the awkward silence that followed her words it was obvious she had failed. 

“Uhh...” Jasper broke the silence, reappearing through the door clutching not one, not two, but three bottles of the pungent clear liquor. “Did I miss all the fun already?”

“Naw...” Clarke forced a smile. “We were just waiting for your wise-ass to join us.”

“Speaking of asses...” Raven cut in. “Where’s Bell?”

“Saying goodbye to Octavia again.” Clarke answered. “She won’t come inside. She asked me to say goodbye to you all for her. She says sorry she’s not saying goodbye in person, but... Well...” Clarke paused awkwardly, digging a fingernail into a deep scratch in the table. “Like I said, she won’t come inside. I think she just wants to be far away from this place. Can’t blame her, really.” She added, thinking of how she had felt sitting in Lexa’s throne room. Surely everything in Arkadia reminded Octavia of Lincoln, just as everything in Polis reminded Clarke of Lexa. “I told Bell he needs to let her go. She’s not a little girl anymore. But you know Bell...” She paused to put on the deepest voice she could muster, her throat already growing raspy from the moonshine. “My sister...”

“My responsibility.” Raven finished for her in her own deep voice. 

Clarke felt a strange tug in her cheeks and suddenly her forced smile spread into a genuine one. She let out a loud bark of laughter.

 

“I hope I sound much more manly than either of you two, buttheads.” An authentically deep voice spoke and Clarke turned to see Bellamy strolling towards them. Clarke laughed even harder at the frown on his face. It felt strange to laugh. It felt good.

“Oh, Bell,” Raven called. “Pull that stick out of your ass and come drink with us. There’s plenty to go around.”

 

Bellamy pulled up a chair and plunked down beside Clarke. Raven handed him a bottle and he accepted it, but he didn’t drink. He just stared at the bottle in his hands, watching the liquor slowly swish side to side as he tilted it. “I think I’ve lost her forever.” He said in a small voice.

For a moment no one said anything. Clarke reached out and put a hand on Bellamy’s. “No you haven’t.” She said softly. “Not for forever.”

“I don’t think O’s ever going to come back to Arkadia.” Bellamy said sadly, staring down at Clarke’s hand on his own.

“Yeah, maybe not.” Clarke answered. “But that doesn’t mean you’ve lost her forever.”

“She told me that Lincoln was her ‘home.’” He argued, pulling his hand free of hers and rubbing at his eyes. He plunked his forehead into his palms, staring down at the table dejectedly. “She’ll never forgive me for what happened to him.”

“Lincoln was her home.” Clarke admitted. “But, Bell, you’re her family. And that never changes. Forgiveness takes time, Bellamy. A lot of time. But she’ll come round eventually.”

“Clarke’s right.” Jasper cut in. “Forgiveness is hard for some people. I mean... Look at me... I’ve been a real dick for the past three months.” He let out a small, bitter laugh then dropped his eyes to the tabletop. “I’m sorry, you guys.”

“You had every right to be a dick, Jasper.” Clarke replied, giving him a small, sad smile. “Maya was a good person. I never wanted to...”

“Maya was doomed the moment we stepped foot into that mountain.” Jasper sighed. “Actually, the whole damn mountain was doomed long before that. For months I blamed you guys for Maya. But you didn’t kill her. The radiation did. ALIE did.”

“Maybe so.” Clarke answered. “But I’m still sorry.”

“I know.” Jasper answered, lifting a bottle to his mouth. He let out another sad sigh. “So am I.”

“So am I.” Monty added.

“So am I.” Bellamy echoed him.

“God, we’re a cheerful bunch.” Raven commented. “Some party, huh?”

“Yeah... I think I have more fun drinking alone.” Jasper laughed. It still sounded forced, but it was a little freer than the last. “Maybe I should go get some cards.” He suggested. “Strip poker, anyone?” He asked, wiggling his eyebrows first at Raven and then at Clarke.

“Tempting as that sounds,” Monty said sarcastically, rising from his chair “And I hate to break up the party and all, but I’m gonna head to bed.”

“Give Harper a goodnight kiss for me!” Raven called after him in a teasing voice.

“And for me!” Jasper laughed.

Monty paused in the doorway to roll his eyes at them. But he was blushing and the corners of his mouth pulled into a tiny smile he could not conceal.

 

“Monty and Harper?” Clarke asked as Monty disappeared down the hall. “Really?”

“Really.” Raven smiled.

“Since when?” Clarke asked..

“Officially? About two days ago.” Raven answered. “Took them long enough.”

“Took them long enough?” Clarke repeated, confused. Monty and Harper? She thought again, still trying to wrap her head around the idea of them as a couple. She had never detected anything between the two of them. But then again, she hadn’t been around either of them much lately. It seemed like an odd pairing to her. But who was she to judge? She was happy for them. A little taken aback, but happy. “I didn’t see that one coming at all.” She remarked, turning to Bellamy. “Did you?” 

Bellamy shrugged his shoulders. “To be honest, I always kinda thought Monty was gay.”

“What?!” Raven laughed. “Monty... Gay?”

Bellamy just shrugged again. “I guess sometimes my gay-dar is a little off.”

“Yeah... Sometimes... Just a little.” Raven said sarcastically, still laughing as she caught Clarke’s eye and gave her a knowing smirk. 

Clarke shouldn’t have been surprised. Of course Raven had picked up on Clarke’s feelings for Lexa. Raven was as sharp as the bird after which she was named. She rarely missed anything. Still, Clarke fixed her with a small glare that was meant to silence her, but only sufficed to make the girl’s smirk widen even further. Jasper’s eyes flicked from Clarke to Raven to Clarke again and he gave her a curious look, but Bellamy seemed completely oblivious.

“Well, anyway.” Bellamy said. “I’m happy for him. The man deserves a little loving.”

No one replied. A heavy silence fell. It seemed that they were each lost in their own thoughts. It suddenly struck Clarke that every one of them sitting at this table was single, and not one of them by choice. Every single one of them had had a lover ripped from their arms by death. Clarke could only hope the fates would be kinder to Monty and Harper. Because Bellamy was right... Monty and Harper both deserved love. But then again, didn’t they all?

“Yeah.” Raven finally broke the silence. “He does. Monty is a good guy. A real good guy. No matter what he says, I never would have been able to find the kill switch without his help. By the way,” She paused, turning to Clarke. “I have to ask... When you went into the room with the switch, I expected you to flip it right away. But you... Hesitated. For a minute there, I was worried you weren’t going to do it. What happened in that room? What did ALIE say to you?”

Again, Clarke should not have been surprised. Raven had been tracking her progress in the City of Light from inside the walls of Arkadia. She had “seen” Clarke enter the room. She had “seen” Clarke hesitate. And of course she had rightly surmised that ALIE’s words were responsible for her hesitation. 

Clarke chewed on her lip, wondering how to answer. She had yet to tell anyone about the newest crisis. She still wasn’t ready to deal with it. But Raven was staring at her expectantly. Raven knew she was holding something back. Raven rarely missed anything. 

 

Fuck it, Clarke thought. She had to tell people sometime. She might as well do it now. “The world is dying.” She said frankly. “We have six months.”

“What?” Bellamy asked. “What are you talking about? Six months for what?”

“To figure out how to save everyone again.” Clarke sighed. “And this time I don’t just mean Arkadia or Trikru. I mean EVERYONE.”

“What the hell happens in six months?” Raven asked. 

Clarke frowned thoughtfully. She wasn’t sure she knew how to explain the situation. She wasn’t even sure she had understood what ALIE had told her, herself. “ALIE told me there are nuclear reactors falling apart or something. They are leaking radiation and they are going to melt down? Or explode? I don’t know...” She paused, trying her best to explain. “I do know she said six months. In six months ninety-six percent of the earth’s surface will be uninhabitable.”

“Global nuclear macro-degeneration?” Raven asked, eyes wide. 

Clarke just stared at her blankly.

“Are you saying we’re going to have a second nuclear apocalypse?” Bellamy asked. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“Well, shit.” Jasper said as Clarke shook her head at Bellamy. “With our luck... I’m guessing Arkadia’s not part of the four percent, is it?”

“I have no idea where the supposed ‘four percent’ is.” Clarke answered. “Probably Antartica. Or maybe Timbuktu? Who the fuck knows?”

“So what do we do?” Bellamy asked.

Of course he was staring at Clarke. All three of them were looking to her for an answer. She was the “fixer,” after all. 

Clarke snagged a bottle and leaned back in her chair. She took a long swallow and then shrugged. “Fuck if I know.” She answered. She could almost taste the bitterness of her words on the back of her tongue. “I’m done trying to save the world.”

“We need to shut them down.” Raven spoke, ignoring Clarke’s indifferent attitude. “All the power plants.”

“How do we do that?” Bellamy asked.

“No doubt there’s a lever to pull.” Clarke answered with a dry chuckle. Done... She was so done.

The others still ignored her sarcasm. “First we would have to locate each of the failing plants.” Raven answered. 

“And then we’d have to get to each of them and find the levers to pull?” Jasper asked, skeptically. “How the hell are we going to do that? What if they are on the other side of the country? Or the other side of the ocean? Or the other side of the planet?”

Raven didn’t answer right away. Clarke could practically see the cogs turning in her brilliant brain. Sometimes Clarke half expected to see steam escape Raven’s ears like it did with Yosemite Sam’s ears in the old cartoons she had watched over and over again as a child on the Ark.

“Maybe I could rig a way to shut them down remotely.” Raven answered thoughtfully.

Jasper gave her another skeptical look. “How good do you think the chances are of that working out?” He asked. “I mean... I know you’re legit a fucking genius and all, Raven. But...”

Raven didn’t reply. She didn’t have to. Clarke could tell by the look on her face that the answer was “not good.” The chances were “not good.”

“Maybe we’re going about this all wrong.” Bellamy suggested. “Maybe instead of trying to figure out a way to save the world, we should be trying to figure out a way to LEAVE it.”

“What?” Jasper replied. “Are you talking about going back into space?”

“It worked once before.” Bellamy argued.

“How are we going to get to space?” Jasper laughed. “You have a rocket ship in your room that we don’t know about?”

“Look around.” Bellamy argued. “We’re living in a goddamn space station. Surely we could salvage parts of the wreckage and build something. Right, Raven?”

Raven raised her eyebrows skeptically. “Jasper’s right... I am a fucking genius. But even I couldn’t get us off the ground in this piece of shit, clunker.” She said, kicking the wall beside her with her good leg, sending a metallic ‘clang’ ringing through the room.

“Even if we could get off the ground...” Clarke cut in, rejoining their conversation. Listening to them debate, she had the strange desire to laugh. She wondered if maybe it was the alcohol running through her blood. But the whole situation seemed so ridiculous to her right now that it was absurdly funny. “There’s no way I’m going back to floating around in a damn tin can. I’d rather melt to death down here in this hell-hole.”

“Clarke’s right.” Raven spoke. “Well maybe not about the melting to death part... But about the rest of it. Even if I miraculously found a way to get us back into space, where would we go? We left the Ark completely crippled, dying. We wouldn’t have enough supplies to sustain a community, let alone maintain a viable population for preserving the human race and repopulating the planet. And we could only take so many people with us. How would we decide who to leave behind? And how long would we have to survive up there before the earth became inhabitable again? Another 97 years? 197 years? There’s no way of knowing. No, Bellamy... I don’t think space is going to be a viable option this time around.” She finally finished.

“So we’re back to option number one!” Clarke chuckled bitterly. “Running around like chickens with our heads cut off, looking for levers to pull. Sounds tempting.... But I think I’ll pass this time around. The last six months have been nothing but running from one crisis to the next, trying to fix everything. I’m not wasting my next six months too, especially if they really are my last six months. I’ve got better things to do.” She paused in her monologue of bitterness to take another swig from her bottle. “Better things... Like sitting here and drinking.”

The others were frowning at Clarke, clearly confused by her indifferent attitude. The Clarke they knew didn’t sit around and let others do the fixing. But Clarke wasn’t so sure if the Clarke they knew existed anymore. Maybe that Clarke had died with Lexa in the City of Light. The others were disappointed in her. She could see it in their faces. But she was used to disappointing people. No matter how hard she tried to do the right thing, someone was always disappointed in her.

Yes, the others were disappointed in her. But for the first time, Clarke found that she didn’t care. She raised her bottle out into the air in front of her as if to cheer them. “You guys have fun saving the world.” She said. “I’m done. The world can go float itself.”


	4. Fresh Air

4  
Fresh Air

CLARKE

Clarke woke with a throbbing headache. It felt like someone had opened her skull during the night and shoved her entire brain against her forehead. Reluctantly she cracked an eye open and immediately slammed it shut again, throwing a hand over her face. It was too bright. Way too bright. And what the hell was that pounding? She wondered. Was someone trying to hammer their way through her wall? Her head was already pounding enough on its own. It was too loud. Way too loud.

Clarke rolled over with a groan, feeling like she might vomit. Judging by the horrible acidic taste in her mouth it seemed at some point she already had. She forced herself into a seated position and cradled her throbbing head in her hands. What the hell had she done to herself? It had been such a long time since she had had a proper hangover, she had forgotten about the many joyous repercussions of drinking. Now they hit her with full force. Maybe she should reconsider her plans to sit around and drink for the next six months, she thought to herself. At least the whole drinking part. There were less painful things she could do while sitting around. Maybe she should take up knitting?

 

Clarke slowly pushed herself off her cot, rinsed the nastiness from her mouth, and headed down the hall. She paused to glare at the two workers repairing a damaged section of the wall, hammering and drilling and banging and pounding and pounding and pounding. Honestly... Morning people, she thought to herself with a shake of the head. Couldn’t the wall wait until the afternoon?

She headed down the hall towards Mess, thinking she should at least try to get a little breakfast into her roiling stomach. She spotted her mother and Kane sitting at a table in the corner and moved to join them. But the smell that greeted her as she moved towards them pushed any thoughts of eating from her mind. Garlic and onions and garlic and peppers and more garlic. She held her breath as she sidled up to their table, again fighting the urge to wretch.

“Are you guys eating spaghetti? For breakfast?” She asked by way of greeting, her face scrunched, her lip curled.

“Breakfast?” Abby replied. “Honey... It’s two thirty in the afternoon. This is lunch.”

“Two thirty?” Clarke repeated. “In the afternoon? Are you sure?”

“Yes, the afternoon. We’re sure.” Kane answered with a laugh. “We weren’t sure you were going to get up at all today.”

“Are you feeling alright?” Abby asked, effortlessly switching from mother to doctor mode. “Are you sick?” She wiped marinara from her hand onto her pants before reaching out for Clarke’s forehead.

Clarke pulled away from her, expertly dodging her hand after years of practice. “Yeah... I’m fine, Mom.” She answered. “Just needed some sleep, I guess.”

“Well, maybe you ought to lay off Jasper’s moonshine today.” Abby suggested with a cocked brow. Just like that... From mother to doctor to mother in ten seconds flat.

“That obvious, huh?” Clarke asked, plopping down in a chair beside them. 

“Afraid so.” Kane answered, taking a slurp of saucy noodles. Another wave of garlic and onions and garlic assaulted Clarke’s nostrils. Nope, she thought. Sitting was not good. Sitting was not good at all. She pushed herself back onto her feet, feeling woozy.

“Well that was a quick visit.” Abby commented.

“I think I need some fresh air.” Clarke replied. 

“Alright, Hun.” Abby mumbled through a mouthful of noodles. “See you later.”

 

Clarke headed down the hallway towards the outside but paused at the sound of a familiar voice. 

“Try F11-control-alt-9.” Monty’s voice drifted from a doorway.

“I already tried F11.” Raven’s sassy, annoyed voice answered. “Let me try F7...”

“Wait!” Monty cut her off. “Wait... Wait... Go back! I saw something.”

Clarke wandered into the room and felt her jaw drop slightly. Monty and Raven were hunched at a table bickering. Behind them was an entire panel comprised of a ginormous computer screen surrounded by smaller ones. 

“Wow, that’s a big-ass computer!” Clarke exclaimed. “No wonder ALIE couldn’t compete with you guys.”

“Hey, Clarke.” Raven looked up to greet her. Taking advantage of Raven’s momentary distraction, Monty seized the opportunity to sidle his way onto the keyboard she had been monopolizing.

“Nice of you to join the living.” Raven said. “It’s about time... Hey, hey, hey!” She interrupted herself, noticing Monty typing stealthily behind her. “No, Monty!” She scolded, swatting angrily at his hands.

Monty let out a frustrated sigh as she pushed his arms away and started fiddling with the keys herself. “I’m telling you...” He argued. “Go back... I saw something.”

“What are you guys doing?” Clarke asked, curiously eyeing the massive screen as line after line of random letters and numbers flashed across it. She didn’t understand a single bit of any of it.

Monty turned towards her and opened his mouth to speak. Clarke just stared at him. His lips were moving. His hands were gesturing enthusiastically. But he was speaking some foreign language Clarke could make no sense of. She swore only half of the words were English, and even the phrases she understood made no sense. 

She gave Raven a perplexed look. “Translate for me?”

“We’re trying to break into the Ark’s mainframe.” Raven explained.

“Why?” Clarke asked.

“ALIE linked to it before you could flip the switch.” Raven answered. “We’re hoping some of her data was preserved on it.”

“Why?” Clarke asked again. “I thought we destroyed ALIE for good. You’re hoping part of her was saved?”

“No.” Raven answered. “We did destroy ALIE for good. We’re just looking for...” She paused to swat Monty’s hand away again. Monty let out a small “ouch.” and shook his hand out with a pout on his face. “I said, ‘no,’ Monty! Don’t touch.” She scolded him as if talking to a naughty two year old. “Don’t make me tell you again.” She warned before turning her gaze back to Clarke. “We’re hoping to find all the information she had on the failing power plants. Primarily their locations. But also the rates at which they are deteriorating, data on current radiation levels and the projected rate of increase...”

“OK... Stop.” Clarke cut her off, massaging the bridge of her nose. “My head was already throbbing before I came in here. If you keep spitting all that science talk at me it might just explode. By the way...” She nodded her head towards the space behind Raven. “Monty’s messing with the keys again.”

Raven spun in her seat. “Monty! What did I tell you?”

“Bad dog, Monty!” Clarke added with a laugh.

“I know.. I know... Just wait...” Monty grunted, struggling to type as Raven tugged at his bicep. “There!” He called out triumphantly. “See? There... There it is!”

Raven stopped pulling at his arm and stared up at the massive screen. She let out a stubborn huff of indignation. But it fooled no one, because her eyes had gone wide with excitement.

“That’s it!” Monty exclaimed. “Isn’t it?” He asked, questioning himself. “I found it! Right?”His voice was a mixture of excited arrogance and complete insecurity.

“It might be!” Raven answered, finally fully abandoning her act of feigned impatience. 

Monty and Raven both stared up at the computer screen with so much hunger and excitement in their eyes you would think there was a picture of a topless girl plastered across it. Or at least a slice of chocolate cake. But all Clarke saw was more incomprehensible lines of random letters and numbers. 

“Right...” Clarke mumbled as Raven started typing furiously on the keyboard, Monty draped over her shoulder, grinning triumphantly. “You guys have fun. Let me know when you figure out how to save the world, alright?” They both ignored her as she slipped from the room.

 

***

 

The afternoon sun was still high in the sky and Clarke blinked against its brilliance as she stepped from the shadows of the Ark into the light. Though the sun shone valiantly above her, the air was still crisp against Clarke’s cheeks. Clarke couldn’t remember the last time she had seen the sky this clear, this blue, as blue as the tired eyes that stared into her whenever she caught her reflection in the mirror. She closed those eyes, tilted her face towards the sun, and gulped the chilly air greedily. It smelled of the forest... Of pine and bark and rotting leaves and damp earth and the promise of Spring. It was a smell she loved because it made her think of Lexa. It was a smell she hated because it made her think of Lexa. 

Still, she breathed the fresh air in like medicine. Already her foggy head was starting to clear. Her roiling stomach was starting to settle. She headed towards the gates and paused, hesitating a long moment before snagging a gun from the guardpost and slinging it over her shoulder. Then she stepped into the outside world.

 

Clarke hated the weight of the rifle pulling at her shoulder, the feel of its cold steel flopping against her back. These things used to bring her comfort, make her feel safe. But now, if she had her way, Clarke would never touch another gun. All guns ever brought was death. And she was tired of death.

The rest of Sky Crew still believed in guns. They practically worshiped them. Perhaps it was all the time she had spent immersed in the Grounder culture, but Clarke was starting to think that guns were the weapon of choice for two kinds of people: those driven by fear, and those driven by hate. And when the fearful and the hateful had a gun in their hands, good people died. The villagers of Ton DC, the three hundred warriors of Trikru, Anya, Lincoln, Lexa. Lexa... Who was good and fearless and compassionate and who had never once picked up a gun.

Still, Clarke knew only a fool would leave the gates without a weapon. The others still carried guns because of the Grounders. Because they feared them. Because they hated them. Clarke didn’t carry hers for the Grounders. She had enough Grounder blood on her hands to last a lifetime. But there were other threats in these woods. You never knew when you might stumble across something bigger than you, something meaner than you... Cougars, bears, even the occasional goddamned giant gorilla.

 

Clarke tried to push the thoughts of the gorilla incident from her mind. Not because the memories were horrible. They were anything but horrible. But Clarke didn’t want to think of Lexa. She didn’t want to remember how Lexa’s knife had come soaring through the air out of nowhere to save her life. She didn’t want to hear the echo of Lexa’s voice ringing through the air. 

“Jomp em up en yu jomp ai up.” Clarke hadn’t understood Lexa’s words at the time, but she had made a point of memorizing them anyway so that she could ask Lincoln later. She had told herself that her strange attraction was for the curious, unfamiliar words... not for the powerful, commanding voice that spoke them. “Attack her and you attack me.” Lexa had said. They had barely known each other at the time, and already Lexa was protecting her. Already Lexa was treating Clarke’s needs as her own.

Clarke shook her head, trying to clear it of the past. She didn’t want to remember being trapped with Lexa in the gorilla’s cage, thinking it might become their tomb. She didn’t want to recall how quietly Lexa had thanked her for saving her life. Or the softness in her eyes as she watched Clarke bandage her wounded arm. She didn’t want to remember how Lexa had smiled at her when Clarke called her ‘smart.’ And how she had seen in that tiny, hint of a smile, a glimpse... A flash really... Of the real Lexa. Not the fierce Commander of the twelve clans. Not the Heda with her mask of black and her sash of red and her sword of steel. She had glimpsed Lexa... The girl beneath the warpaint and the armor and the responsibilities and burdens of her people. Lexa... The girl who was just a girl like Clarke, a teenager forced into leading, forced into carrying more weight on her shoulders than most adults ever would. Lexa... The girl who was just a girl. 

Clarke didn’t want to remember how she had been pulled from her nightmare by the sound of the gorilla’s roar and how quickly Lexa had tried to comfort her. “It’s OK... You’re safe.” And how, for the first time in a long time, it had felt like those words might actually be true. Because, with Lexa beside her, Clarke had felt safe enough to close her eyes and drift into sleep. And though she hadn’t known it until she had awoken, Lexa had been watching over her every second as she slept.

Clarke didn’t want to remember how Lexa had looked into her eyes and swallowed nervously as she had told Clarke that her heart showed no signs of weakness. And how Clarke had seen the vulnerability in those intense green eyes, shining the color of soft new pine needles in Spring. And how Clarke had started to realize that Lexa spoke more with those haunting eyes than she did with her own lips. 

No, Clarke didn’t want to remember. She had left Polis behind for that very reason. But it seemed she could run from Polis, but she could not run from the memories. They always followed after her. Because she carried them with her. And it didn’t matter if she was standing in the middle of Lexa’s chambers or the middle of the forest. The memories would still find her. And she hated them because they made her ache deep inside. And she hated them because they made her feel. And she loved them because they made her ache deep inside. And she loved them because they made her feel. And feeling something... Even the ache, the terrible longing that started in the pit of her stomach and spread like fire into her lungs and made it hard to breathe... Even the ache was better than the emptiness. 

 

Clarke pulled her gaze from the haze of the past and was mildly surprised to find herself looking out at the sparkling waters of the river. She stepped up to the water’s edge, balancing on the slick stones, allowing the waters to lap gently at the tips of her boots. She had not consciously planned on coming to the river, but now that she was here she found herself smiling. Because she suddenly had the overwhelming desire for a swim. 

It was a crazy idea. Yes, the sun was shining brightly, peeking stubbornly through the tops of the thick fir trees above her. But the air was chilly enough that her breath rose in small white puffs before her. And she knew without testing it that the water was cold as ice. It was a crazy idea. And Clarke was grinning, her heart racing as she stripped off her clothes and tossed them aside. 

The chilly air nipped at her bare skin, making the hairs on her arms stand as Clarke stepped to the edge of a long, flat boulder protruding into the river. She took a deep breath. This was a crazy idea, she thought one last time as her feet left the stone and plunged through cold air into colder water.

The cold hit Clarke’s body like a hundred sharp needles stabbing into her all at once, ripping the air from her lungs. She kicked her feet out, pushing off the slippery stones of the river’s underbelly until her head broke free of the water. She sucked in a tight breath, her entire body already breaking into shivers. The cold was so fierce it was painful. And Clarke relished it. Because the pain on the outside was so much easier to bear than the pain on the inside.

Clarke took a few clumsy, awkward strokes, and then let her body lean backwards into the river’s gentle current. She let her feet leave the stones beneath her just enough to allow the waters to carry her, while keeping them close enough to the bottom for her to wiggle her toes and find the solid ground beneath her again. 

 

Clarke didn’t know how to swim. There were no rivers on the Ark. But she had always loved water. She had always been drawn to the water’s edge. And she had always dreamed of learning to swim someday. And she had told Lexa that as they had lain beside each other, buried in the soft furs of Lexa’s bed, putting off the responsibilities of the day as they dreamed of a ‘someday’ they both knew may never come. And Lexa had laughed because Lexa had learned to swim before she could read or count her fingers or tie the laces on her boots. And Lexa had promised to teach Clarke... Someday.

And Clarke let out a sad, frustrated sigh because now she had gone from the middle of Lexa’s chambers to the middle of a forest, to the middle of a goddamn icy river and still the memories had found her. 

And Clarke wondered how long the memories would follow her. She wanted them to fade because she hated them and she hated the pain they wrought and she wanted the pain to leave. And she never wanted the memories to fade because she knew they were all she had left of Lexa. And if they left her... if the pain left her... Lexa would be gone, truly gone, forever.

“I’ll always be with you.” Lexa had said. And the words still echoed in Clarke’s hollow chest. And the words still felt hollow too. But Clarke was starting to understand that in a way they were true. Because... in Polis, in the middle of the forest, in the middle of a goddamn ice-cold river... Lexa would always be with her. Lexa would always be with her as long as Clarke had the memories.

Yes, the memories were all Clarke had left of Lexa. The memories... and the flame.

 

The rational part of Clarke told her it was pointless to carry the flame around with her. Now that the City of Light was forever destroyed, the flame was useless. It was just a cheap piece of plastic now. 

But the other part of Clarke... the part that was not ruled by rationality or logic, the part of her that was deeper and louder than the rational part of her... THAT part of her refused to let her let go of the flame. Even as she had stood on the edge of the Polis tower, even as she had reared her arm back and swung it through the empty cold air, Clarke had known that she could not let it go. She would never let it go. 

And the rational part of Clarke was shaking its ugly head at the rest of her. And the rest of her was blushing under its judgmental glare. But it was still clinging to the flame stubbornly. And the rational part of her always had eloquent words and valid arguments to berate the rest of her with. And the rest of her could never even give a simple reason for its actions, let alone formulate a convincing argument. 

No, she could not explain why she still clung to the flame. She could not explain why she still compulsively reached into the depths of her cloak every couple of hours just to reassure herself that it was still there. Or why in the darkness of the night she still slid its case open and pulled it out just so she could hold it in her fingertips, feel its weight in her palm.

The rational part of herself reminded her time and time again that Lexa was gone. The flame’s plastic casing no longer held Lexa’s sharp mind or her soft heart or her beautiful soul. All of that... Everything that made Lexa, Lexa... All of that was gone. And the plastic casing was empty.

But the rest of her refused to believe it. Clarke let the icy waters numb her arms and her legs and her fingers and her toes. And for a moment, she let it numb the rational part of herself. And she turned the rest of her away from the heat of its judgmental glare. And she silenced its arguments long enough to listen to the rest of her. 

Because the rest of her, the deeper, more stubborn part of her, told her that it could not be true. Lexa could not be gone. Even if the City of Light was gone. Even if ALIE and ALIE 2 were both gone. Lexa could not be gone. Because Lexa had told her, “I will always be with you.” And maybe her words weren’t hollow after all. And maybe she had meant more than her words had let on. And maybe... Just maybe... A part of Lexa was still there in that plastic casing waiting for Clarke to find a way back to her.

 

OR, Clarke thought to herself as she floated naked in an icy stream watching her breaths hover over the surface of the water like smoke, maybe... Just maybe... She was going crazy. Batshit crazy. Still, if that was the case, hadn’t she earned the right to go batshit crazy? And so, for a moment, she let the thoughts, as crazy as they might be, enter her mind. 

What if Lexa was still in the chip? If she was, then Clarke would find a way back to her. She had to. She NEEDED to. But the only way to get back to her would be to put the flame back into her neck. And, unless she wanted her brain liquefied, to do that would require nightblood. And, at least as far as she knew, there was only one Nightblood left on the face of the planet. And, so far, Clarke had been incapable of convincing Luna to do ANYTHING, even the right, rational thing to do. There was no way she would be able to talk Luna into something so absolutely crazy, dangerous, and irrational as transfusing her blood with Clarke’s. Especially if she found out what had happened to Clarke’s last Nightblood “donor.” And even if Clarke somehow got a hold of Luna’s blood, her system could only handle it for a few moments before her body would reject it, she would crash, and she would lose Lexa forever all over AGAIN. 

No, Clarke concluded. Borrowing nightblood was not a good enough solution. If she was truly going to get back to Lexa, she needed a permanent source of the blood. Or... A crazy, batshit crazy thought... she needed to BECOME a Nightblood.

But that was impossible. Wasn’t it? Lexa, Ontari, Luna... They all came into the world with the darkness already running through their veins. You were born a Nightblood. You didn’t become one, right?

 

Clarke’s arms and legs and fingers and toes were all trembling with the cold, but the tingle in her limbs was nothing compared to the buzzing in her brain. Her mind was racing, the questions popping into her head one after another, chasing each other around her brain like children on a playground. And she suddenly wondered how she had never thought to ask any of these questions before.

Being a Nightblood was genetic. That much was clear. But had it always been? Who was the first Nightblood? Hadn’t it been the first commander, Becca? Had Becca miraculously been born with mutated, black blood? She doubted it. Becca was a scientist. Surely she must have created the blood, designed it in a lab. She must have found a way to force her body to tolerate the altered blood. Or even... Was it possible? Had Becca figured out a way to force her body to start manufacturing the blood on its own? And if Becca had done it, could Clarke?

She would need Raven’s help. Clarke was smart, resourceful, intuitive. But she was no chemist. She was no biologist. If she injected herself with a concoction she tried to create on her own, she would most likely poison herself. And after all these months of cheating death, that would be a stupid way to die. She would definitely need Raven. 

But Raven was busy trying to save the world again. And Raven would think it was a crazy idea. And Raven would judge her and berate her with valid, well-formulated arguments. Because Raven was like the living, breathing embodiment of the rational part of Clarke’s brain. Only, Raven was just as stubborn and loud as the rest of Clarke.

 

Suddenly there was a splash in the water beside her and Clarke’s racing mind was wrenched from its thoughts. Heart beating wildly, Clarke shot to her feet, struggling to force her wobbly, tingling toes to find purchase on the slippery stones beneath her. She had to get to the shore. She had to get to her gun.

Before she could stumble out of the water a head broke free of it. Sopping wet black curls, freckles, a grin. “Shit that’s cold!” Bellamy exclaimed and Clarke let out a sigh of relief. But not a second passed before her thumping heart leapt into her throat again and she threw her arms around her bare chest.

“What the fuck, Bellamy?!” She cried, crouching as low in the water as she could manage. “I’m naked!”

“Yeah.” Bellamy laughed. “I noticed.”

Clarke fixed him with an incredulous glare, struggling to conceal herself in the crystal clear shallows of the river’s shore. Why was Bellamy still smirking at her? Was he deaf? Or just stupid?

“I’m NAKED.” She repeated more slowly, not even trying to bite back the anger in her voice. 

Bellamy just laughed again. “I KNOW.” He replied, drawing out his own words as slowly as she had. “Don’t worry... So am I.”

Clarke didn’t know how to respond. She was angry. She was shocked. Most of all, she was absolutely flustered. She needed to climb out of the water and get dressed. But Bellamy was still staring at her wearing nothing but a stupid grin and she didn’t dare move.

“Turn around and close your eyes!” She demanded. At last Bellamy’s grin faltered. His face fell. Again he looked saddened and confused by Clarke.

“I’m sorry.” He said, as if only now realizing that Clarke was not amused by his antics. She was pissed. He turned away from her and she rushed up the bank to retrieve her scattered belongings, not even attempting to dry her goose-bump riddled skin before shoving it into her clothes. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Clarke asked as she finished fastening her belt and pulled on a sock. 

“Raven asked me to get you for her.” Bell spoke out into the tumbling waters. “She says it’s important.”

“How did you even find me?” 

“Can I turn back around yet?” Bellamy asked sheepishly.

“Yes.” Clarke humphed. “I’m dressed.”

Bellamy turned back toward Clarke, looking apologetic. “I tracked you.” He said as if the answer were obvious. 

“Tracked me?” Clarke replied. “You can track?”

“Yeah, of course, Clarke.” Bellamy answered. “We’ve been on the ground for six months. I may not be a damn genius like Raven, but I’ve still learned a few things.”

“Right...” Clarke mumbled, securing the laces on her boot and rising to her feet. “Well, in that case, I guess you can manage to find your way back on your own then.” She turned and started heading up the bank and into the trees.

“Clarke... Wait!” Bellamy called after her. “Please.”

Reluctantly, Clarke paused, clenching her jaw as she turned to face him. 

“I’m sorry.” He repeated. “I just saw you swimming... I mean...” He paused at the look on Clarke’s face. “I didn’t SEE you swimming. I mean... OK... I saw a little... But I didn’t see everything. I...” Bellamy was rambling. Clarke wasn’t sure if he was trembling from nerves or from the cold of the icy waters or from the cold of her icy glare. He paused and took a deep breath to steady himself, running a hand through his mop of floppy black curls. “I mean, I saw you swimming and I thought it would be fun to join you. I thought you...” He paused again, clearly flustered. “I don’t know... I guess I thought you’d be... I don’t know... It’s just lately, between us... I thought... There was something... And I don’t... I’m sorry.” He finished, blushing furiously in the sunlight filtering through the trees.

Clarke stared at Bellamy standing naked and completely vulnerable before her and the words escaped her mouth before she could even consider her tone. “I’m in love with someone else.” She said bluntly. “Well... I mean...” She corrected herself. “I loved someone else. I still do.” She paused for a deep breath. “I’m not ready to be with anyone.”

 

It wasn’t the first time she had spoken those words out loud. The first time she had uttered them was to Lexa. And her voice had been soft and she had had to force her tongue to form the words. And, despite her intentions, a “yet” had slipped out afterwards. Because her lips had still been tingling from Lexa’s touch and the rational part of herself had been the one forming the words.The rational part of herself had screamed at her, telling her it was too soon... Too uncertain. But the rest of herself had not wanted to believe the words. Because her heart was still thumping and her fingers were shaking slightly and her lips weren’t the only part of her still tingling. And the rest of her had been ready. The rest of her had been more than ready.

And just like Bellamy’s, Lexa’s face had fallen at Clarke’s words. But she had nodded. Because Lexa was gentle and she was patient and she would wait as long as Clarke needed her to.

The words were the same. But this time Clarke did not have to force them out. This time they rushed out of her, spilling from her lips before she could soften her voice. And the “yet” did not follow after. Because this time there was no “yet.” Because the rational part of her was not ready. And the rest of her was not ready either. And Clarke doubted if either part ever would be. 

 

Clarke considered the man standing in front of her. He was tall, handsome, strong and muscular. He was hard and solid in all the places Lexa had been soft and smooth. He wore the same look of disappointment Lexa had worn at her words. But where Lexa’s light green eyes had held understanding, Bellamy’s dark brown ones only held hurt.

Clarke pitied him. She felt like she should probably apologize. But she wasn’t quite sure what it was she should be apologizing for. Bellamy was her friend. But she had no interest in becoming anything more than that. She didn’t want to be with him. She didn’t want him. She wanted Lexa. And even if Lexa was truly gone forever, that would still never change. And how could she apologize for that?

So she just stared at the hurt in his eyes and held her tongue, realizing that Bellamy’s pain was just one more problem she could not fix.

 

“I know.” Bellamy said. “I’m sorry. I just thought... With time passing and all...” He paused to shrug nervously. “I guess I’m still an insensitive asshole. I should’ve known you would need more time. I know you still miss him.”

“Him?” Clarke replied, momentarily confused.

Bellamy just frowned at her, looking confused by her confusion. An awkward few seconds passed before it dawned on her.

“I’m not talking about Finn.” Clarke blurted out. 

Bellamy’s eyebrows narrowed even further. He looked so confused that it was almost comical. 

“You’re in love with someone else?” He looked like he was searching his brain, scrolling through a list of possible rivals, separating them out into two categories: those he could punch in the face and those who might require a weapon of some sort.

“I’m talking about Lexa.” Clarke said simply.

Utter surprise replaced the confusion on his face. Raven was right... Bellamy’s gay-dar was way off.

“Lexa?” He replied, still stunned. “I thought you were friends... Allies. I mean...” He paused, frowning. “Lexa left us at Mt. Weather. She betrayed you...”

“I loved her.” Clarke replied softly. “I still do.” 

And then she turned her back on Bellamy and walked into the trees, shaking her head sadly because Bellamy would never understand.


	5. Braces

5  
Braces

CLARKE

Clarke poked her head through the door to spy Raven still hunched in front of the computer where she had left her. Though now Monty was gone and there was a messy pile of papers sprawled out on the table in his place. Raven was almost as sprawled on the table as the papers. She was leaning far to one side, her head cradled in the crook of her elbow so that her arm wrapped around the back of her head. Her fingers gripped the base of her ponytail and she was yanking it left and right so that her head rocked back and forth, flopping dejectedly against her bicep. Her other arm was extended all the way out. Its fingertips grasped the end of a pen, absentmindedly flicking it up and down rapidly so that its tip beat a frantic “pat, pat, pat, pat,” against the table. 

She looked frustrated, agitated. She looked exhausted, overwhelmed. She looked utterly defeated.

Clarke hesitated in the doorway. She felt drained from her hangover, and from the physical shock of the icy waters, and from the emotional shock of her encounter with Bellamy. Right now was probably not the best time for either girl to be interacting with another human being. But Clarke was already standing there. So she took a deep breath and opened her mouth. 

 

“Hey.” She called.

At her greeting, Raven’s shoulders jerked in surprise and the pen went flying from her fingers. It soared through the air and Clarke had to duck as it ricocheted off the door frame behind her head before falling to the ground next to her feet with a clatter. Raven sat up and swiveled in her seat, sending papers cascading to the floor. 

“Bell said you were asking for me.” Clarke spoke, bending to retrieve Raven’s pen.

Raven paused from gathering the fallen papers to glance up at Clarke. She eyed her curiously. “Why are you all wet?”

“Never mind that.” Clarke replied impatiently. “What’s up?”

With a tired sigh, Raven plopped the papers back onto the desk, not bothering to straighten them. “Do you want the good news or the bad?” She asked cryptically.

“If this has anything to do with saving the world,” Clarke replied. “I’d rather not hear either.”

Raven didn’t laugh. Clarke hadn’t exactly expected her to. But she hadn’t exactly expected her to fix her with a frown of such fierce intensity either. 

“What the hell’s wrong with you, Clarke?” She asked, furiously.

Clarke blinked stupidly at her, completely taken aback by the sheer anger in her voice. “What do you mean?”

“I mean...” Raven spat at her. “Why are you being so...” She paused, racking her brains, apparently struggling to find a strong enough word to adequately describe just how atrocious Clarke’s current attitude really was. “So... Ornery?” She finally finished and Clarke almost laughed at the choice. 

Clarke had been accused of being a lot of things in her life: ‘stubborn,’ ‘strong-willed,’ ‘hard-headed’... But ‘ornery?’ That was a new one. But Clarke bit back the laugh before it could escape her because Raven was glaring at her. And the usual soft glint of humor in her eyes was absent. Right now they burned with anger and frustration and Clarke felt herself hardening under their heat.

“While you’ve been out wandering the woods, walking off your hangover,” Raven crowed angrily. “I’ve been doing the calculations. And ALIE was right. We’re fucked. We’re all completely fucked. Everyone is going to die. And you... You don’t even seem to give a damn!”

“That’s because I don’t!” Clarke spat back at her. “It’s not my problem!”

They stared at each other for a moment, nostrils flared, fists clenched. “What happened to the Clarke I knew?” Raven asked. And the anger in her voice was suddenly gone, replaced by pure, unadulterated disappointment. And the hot anger churning in Clarke’s stomach was rapidly giving way to guilt. And it was so much worse.

“The Clarke I knew wouldn’t just sit around drinking while people were dying.” Raven spoke. “The Clarke I knew wouldn’t turn her back on everyone and say ‘it’s not her problem.’”

“Well,” Clarke shot back. “Maybe the Clarke you knew is gone.”

“Maybe she is.” Raven replied, eyeing Clarke with a look of mixed disappointment and genuine sadness. “Because the girl I see in front of me now... I don’t know who she is. But she’s not the girl I call ‘friend.’ She’s not the leader we all trust and admire. She’s not the person Lexa fell in love with.”

It was a low blow. A very low blow. And Clarke felt herself stumbling and reeling beneath it as if struck by a blade, not a tongue. Raven’s words were meant to hurt her and they had succeeded. And Raven knew it. 

“I’m sorry.” She said quickly, dropping her eyes, dropping her voice. She sighed. “It’s just... I... I don’t know what to do. I need you. I need the old Clarke. I need the Clarke who always stepped up to help, even when it wasn’t her responsibility to do so. I need the Clarke who gives a shit. I need the Clarke who cares.” 

“What if I can’t be the person you need?” Clarke asked. And all the anger and the bitterness and the defensiveness was gone from her voice. And all that was left was the fear. “What if I can’t fix anything? What if I’m broken?”

Without warning, Raven reached out and grasped Clarke’s hand in her own. And there was tenderness in her touch. And there was understanding. 

“We’re all broken, Clarke.” She said. “We all have battle scars. We’re all crippled inside. And I found out the hard way... The best braces aren’t made of plastic and steel. They’re made of flesh and bone. The best braces are the people who hold a hand out and help you get back up onto your feet... the people who give you a shoulder to lean on when you can’t stand on your own... the people who wrap their arms around you and hold you together when you feel like you’re breaking apart.” She paused, staring at Clarke with a different kind of intensity in her bright eyes. “Trust me... Turning your back on the world... On the people who love you... Turning your back will only leave you more broken than before. We need you, Clarke... And you need us.”

Suddenly Clarke realized tears were rolling warm and wet down her cheeks. But before she could lift a hand to smear them away, Raven stepped forward and engulfed her, wrapping her arms around her so tightly that Clarke could not even attempt to pull away. And, after a moment of fighting it, Clarke finally let herself crumple and sag in Raven’s embrace. And she leaned into Raven and let Raven hold her steady. And she let Raven hold her together. And she let Raven hold her.

 

And after a long moment in Raven’s arms Clarke finally found the strength to stand again.

 

“Thanks, Raven.” She said softly. “I’m sorry.” Because she knew Raven, like usual, was right. Clarke had lost Lexa and there was a hole inside of her she could never fill. But she had not lost everyone. There were still people who loved her. There were still people who needed her. And Clarke was hurting inside. And Clarke was broken inside. But she was not the only one. And Raven understood.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke repeated. “Sorry for being so ORNERY.” She added with a small, weak, but authentic smile. “I don’t know if I can help fix this. But I do care. So... Give me the good news, I guess.”

“There’s not much good news to give you.” Raven sighed, plunking back down into her chair. Clarke plopped down beside her, eyeing the papers scattered across the desk. They were covered with messy calculations, complicated math that Clarke did not understand. Many of the numbers, and letters, and symbols were scratched out or scribbled over or circled or underlined. They looked like the scribbles of a mad scientist.

“The good news,” Raven told her. “Is that ALIE, though right about everything else, got one thing wrong. We don’t have six months to live. The Grounders do. We have seven months, maybe eight.”

“We have more time than the Grounders?” Clarke asked, confused. “Why? What do you mean?”

“I’ve been running over all the calculations, double checking for every variable I can think of, but I keep coming up with the same numbers.” Raven answered. She paused, thinking. Clarke could tell she was struggling, trying to figure out the best way to explain her findings to Clarke without making her head explode. “With the current rates of nuclear degeneration...” She began.

“OK...” Clarke cut her off. “Let’s just start at the beginning. Did you and Monty find out how many plants we’re talking about? Did you figure out where they are located?”

“Yes... Unfortunately.” Raven answered. “And Jasper’s right... There’s no way we’re piling into the rover and taking a nice, family road trip to these plants. There are 104 old nuclear power plants in the old United States, alone. And even though only a handful of them are currently failing, once they do it will set off a chain reaction and its only a matter of time until the others follow. And there are another 300 plants around the world in what used to be Japan, Russia, Australia, all over fucking Europe...”

“Yeah, I get it.” Clarke cut her off. “What about your idea of disabling them remotely?”

Raven started rambling in engineer speak again and Clarke massaged her temples, tiredly. She had no idea what Raven was saying, but by her tone, one thing was clear... Whatever the science behind it, Raven couldn’t shut down the plants from the comfort of Arkadia.

“So...” Clarke interrupted her scientific ramblings. “We can’t get to the plants and we can’t shut them down from here. So... What’s the plan?”

“I don’t have another plan.” Raven admitted, defeated. “That’s why I need you. I’m so lost for ideas I’m actually starting to seriously consider Bellamy’s ridiculous suggestion of launching us back into space. You need to help me think of something better.” She pleaded. “My plans... Your plans... They always work best when they’re OUR plans.”

“Well, I don’t have any ideas.” Clarke sighed with a shrug. She picked up one of the papers from the desk, eyeing Raven’s chicken scratches. “If they aren’t part of a plan, what are all these crazy scribbles about?”

“I’ve been calculating the current rates of radiation seeping from the plants, and the projected rates of the continued nuclear degradation to form a time line for survival attributing for...” Raven paused. She must have noticed Clarke’s eyes glazing over again. “Let’s see... How can I put this simply? OK... I figured how much radiation is seeping into the environment and the rate at which I think it will continue to rise as more plants fail over the next few months. And according to my calculations the concentration of radiation will reach deadly levels in about six months for the Grounders. Seven or eight for us.”

“Again... Why do we have more time?” Clarke asked, not following. 

“Because of our blood.” Raven answered. “How much radiation someone can tolerate depends on the rate at which their blood can absorb and metabolize it. The average human, pre-nuclear apocalypse, like the people in Mt. Weather, could metabolize about .4 to 1 sieverts of radiation per hour without showing serious signs of illness. The radiation levels in the air outside are already at 4.6 sieverts, which is why if they stepped outside of the mountain their skin melted within minutes.”

“By my calculations, based on the ‘research’” She paused to make air quotes with her fingers. “Cage and those ass-hat scientists in Mt. Weather conducted on the Grounders and our friends... I estimate that the average Grounder can metabolize somewhere between six and seven sieverts an hour. The average Arker, because of our exposure to higher levels of solar radiation in space, can absorb somewhere between eight and nine sieverts.”

Clarke frowned at her, trying her best to follow. “So... We could potentially handle up to nine see...” 

“Sieverts.” Raven supplied. 

“Right...” Clarke continued. “Nine see-whatevers of radiation before our skin starts melting off. So... According to your calculations, we’re at almost five right now and we’re going to hit...” She paused, waiting for Raven’s answer, already knowing she didn’t want to hear it. 

“Well..” Raven bit her lip, stalling. “Of all the bad news, this is the worst. I estimate that within only a month or two people will start showing symptoms of radiation poisoning. Within six months radiation levels will exceed seven and take out all of the Grounders completely. That’s about the time WE will all start feeling sick too. We will have about another month or two before the levels exceed nine and WE will all die as well. Within a year, radiation levels will peak at about eleven or twelve. But no one will be around to see that happen.”

Clarke let the information sink into her, seeping like poison into her blood and bones. She wracked her brains. There had to be something they could do. There had to be a way to survive this. There was always a way to survive. You just had to find it. 

“What if we go underground?” Clarke asked. “It worked for Mt. Weather.... Kind of.”

Raven shook her head sadly. “Once radiation hits a level ten, not even slabs of concrete will be able to shield us from it. It will be so pervasive, so powerful, it will seep in. No... If it passes a level nine and we are still here to see it, we will all die.”

No, Clarke thought. There was no way everyone was just going to die. She would not allow that to happen. There had to be a solution. She was going to find it.

“So, let’s get this straight...” Clarke said, her mind racing again. She had that sudden strange excited feeling she always got just before an idea would pop into her head. She wasn’t sure where her thoughts were leading her, but they were definitely leading somewhere. They were jumbled inside of her, but she was sure there was an idea there, maybe even a solution. She just had to line it all up. She was close. She could feel it. 

“The amount of radiation you can withstand depends on your blood, right?” She started, speaking her thoughts out loud, lining them up. “And some of us can metabolize more than others, right? So, theoretically, if your blood is powerful enough, you could survive limits that science says are deadly, right?”

“No one can metabolize more than nine sieverts an hour, Clarke.” Raven interrupted with a frown. “NOBODY. It’s not possible.”

“When ALIE blew up the world the first time no one thought it would be possible for humans to survive THOSE levels of radiation.” Clarke argued. “According to science, everyone should have died. But they didn’t. Some of the Grounders survived. Some of their bodies found a way to handle the radiation. According to science, no one should be able to handle more than... How many did you say? One see-whatevers? But the air outside is already at four and the last time I checked, the Grounders are still walking around, breathing it in, without their skin melting off.”

“Yes,” Raven conceded. “Some Grounders adapted. But there is a huge, gigantic, monstrous difference between four sieverts and nine, Clarke. No one can adapt to nine. It’s impossible.”

“OK,” Clarke answered. “I’m not a scientist. But it seems to me that when it comes to defining the ‘impossible,’ science has gotten it wrong before. Science put the human limit at one see-whatever. But the Grounders are surviving four. And if WE can survive seven, who is to say that we can’t figure out a way to survive nine or ten or eleven or twelve?” She asked.

Raven was still shaking her head, frowning skeptically. But the answer was close. Clarke could feel it. And suddenly it popped into her mind, clear and solid: an idea. The secret is in the blood, she thought to herself. And for a moment it was like she was back in the middle of the river because the same questions were popping into her head. And they were all leading her to the same conclusion. And it felt like her limbs were going numb. And her mind was finally as clear as those icy waters. And it was as if it was all always meant to come together this way. 

Your blood’s ability to metabolize radiation was genetic, right? Clarke asked herself. You were born an average human, or you were born an average Grounder, or you were born an average Arker. But what if you could change your blood? What if you could become MORE than average?

“Raven,” Clarke said and she felt the excitement bubbling over and spilling into her voice. “You said the ‘average’ Grounder can metabolize between five or six see-whatevers, right? What about an ABOVE-AVERAGE Grounder?”

Raven just frowned confusedly at her, clearly not following. “What do you mean, ‘above-average?’”

And Clarke smiled at her because the answer was so obvious now. The secret to Lexa... The secret to saving the world... The secret was in the blood.


	6. Safe Passage

6  
Safe Passage

CLARKE

“I’m telling you...” Raven said in an exasperated voice, momentarily taking her eyes off of the winding dirt ‘road’ to glare at Clarke in the rover’s rearview. “I have the whole thing memorized. It’s all about ALIE 1 and ALIE 2 and the city and the code. There’s nothing in there about the blood. At least nothing useful.”

For the third time Clarke just ignored her words, still stubbornly flipping through the worn pages of Becca’s journal like a sinner searching the scriptures for salvation. The rational part of herself knew Raven was probably right. There was no point in her going through the journal again. She had already searched its entirety. It was full of calculations and notes and scribbles and code that made just as little sense to her as Raven’s chicken scratches had. Still, the other part of her refused to quit looking. 

“It doesn’t make any sense.” Clarke complained again. “She’s so detailed in her notes. So meticulous. She recorded everything. How could she have not written down anything about the blood? How she created it? Why she created it? How to duplicate it? She must have written the procedure somewhere. I mean... She must have tested it, right? She must have conducted experiments on it before just injecting herself with it. Where are all of her notes? Her observations and measurements and data and findings and all of that crap? Where the hell is it all?”

“There must be another journal somewhere.” Raven answered simply. “Because, you’re right. She was painfully detailed in her records. I’m the only freak who appreciates such boring detail.”

“Of course!” Clarke answered. It made complete sense. “You’re right, Raven. There has to be another journal... But then.... We’re going the wrong direction! If there’s another journal it has got to be in Polis.” She exclaimed, thinking of the strange room where Becca’s old pod still sat rusting in the darkness. 

“You’re getting ahead of yourself, Clarke.” Abby cut in. “We don’t even know for sure if the nightblood is any better at metabolizing radiation than our own. We have to test it before we bother trying to find a way to make gallons of it and start injecting it into people. One step at a time, Hun.”

“Right...” Clarke mumbled. “One step at a time... First Luna.”

But the words were perfunctory. Because Clarke was already planning. And she was already steps ahead of Abby. Because Abby didn’t know that, for Clarke, testing Luna’s blood was just a formality. It didn’t matter what results Abby and Raven found. Well... It mattered for the rest of the world. But even if Luna’s black blood was useless for saving the world, even if it could not metabolize any more radiation than Clarke’s scarlet blood could... It didn’t matter. Because Clarke had already made up her mind... She was going to find a way to make nightblood either way. Even if it could not save her from the radiation, Clarke was going to pump the blackness into her veins. Because if she only had seven more months to live, she wasn’t going to sit around drinking. She wasn’t going to sit around knitting. She wasn’t going to sit around. She was going to spend every day, every hour, every minute working to find a way back to Lexa.

 

“You’re getting ahead of yourself too, Abby.” Raven spoke. “We can’t TEST the blood until we GET the blood. Any thoughts on how we are gonna convince Luna to be our lab rat?” She asked.

“Clarke, you met her once before.” Abby pointed out. “What’s she like?”

“Stubborn.” Clarke answered, simply.

Abby and Raven exchanged a look and both women suddenly burst into laughter. 

“What?” Clarke asked, leaning forward to pop her head into the space between the laughing women. “What are you two weirdos laughing about?”

“Nothing.” Raven croaked. “It’s just you’re one of the most stubborn people I’ve ever known. So to hear you call someone else stubborn...”

“Hey! I’m not the only stubborn woman in this car.” Clarke argued. “You know you’re as hard-headed as I am, Raven. Don’t deny it.”

“She has a point, Raven.” Abby chimed in. “You’re the most stubborn patient I’ve ever had to deal with, including the four year-old who shoved chunks of raw potato into her ear canals and wouldn’t let me remove them until I addressed her as ‘Mrs. Potato Head.’”

“I don’t know what YOU’RE laughing about, Abby.” Raven retorted. “You’re the most stubborn doctor I’ve ever had to deal with.”

“Yeah, Mom.” Clarke agreed. “Where do you think I get my stubbornness from in the first place, huh? I learned it all from you.” 

“You’re both right.” Abby conceded with a smile. “We’re all three of us stubborn as hell. But... You know what? The world needs stubborn women. Can you imagine if we let the men make all of the decisions? Where would the world be without stubborn women?”

“Probably falling apart.” Raven laughed. “Melting down... By the way, do you think we should tell Luna about the world melting down? Will that convince her to help?”

“I don’t know.” Clarke admitted. She had been wondering the same thing. She didn’t know how Luna would react to the news. Would it convince her? Or would she just turn her back on the world again? More importantly, would she tell others? Clarke didn’t want to start a panic. Not yet, anyhow.

“Maybe we won’t have to tell her.” Even as she said it, Clarke could hear the doubt in her voice. “Maybe she’ll just give us some blood if we ask nicely.”

“And if not?” Raven asked.

“We try asking not so nicely?” Clarke suggested. “I guess we will just have to take it one step at a time, right?”

“One step at a time.” Abby agreed.

“One step at a time.” Raven echoed.

 

*** 

 

Clarke hopped down from the rover onto the spongy forest floor. It seemed they had left the sun behind in Arkadia. Here the dying afternoon was gray and cold. She breathed in the misty air and tasted just the hint of salt on the tip of her tongue. She could hear the distant sound of the ocean greeting the shore, like the swaying of the firs in the wind, only more steady, more rhythmic, more determined.

“We’re close.” She announced, slamming the rover’s door shut behind her.

She could feel the anticipation pulsing through her veins as they hiked through the forest in the direction of the sea. She was not the only one excited. Raven’s chocolate brown eyes were wide as she followed Clarke, limping through the tangled underbrush. Abby walked beside her, always ready to lend a helping hand, though Raven never asked for it.

At last they broke through the trees and the vast gray ocean appeared before them. Feeling like a child on a playground, Clarke leapt onto a thick log of driftwood and wobbled down its length, her arms thrown out from her side for balance. Just as she began to fall, she jumped onto the ocean’s stony shoreline. Raven and Abby did not follow and Clarke laughed as she glanced back to see them still standing frozen on the edge of the trees, staring in awe at the ocean. Clarke had been here once before, but for Raven and Abby this was their first glimpse of the sea.

As always, Clarke was immediately drawn to the water’s edge. Unlike the steady flow of the river, these waters advanced and retreated and advanced again. She let the waves wash gently over her boots, feeling them tug the tiny pebbles out from beneath her each time the waters receded. She watched the colorful pebbles tumble in the current, then settle beside her feet, then tumble again. Then she looked out across the vast waters, searching for the horizon. The endless gray ocean so perfectly mirrored the endless gray sky above that it was hard to say where sea and sky met, where air became water and water became air.

Clarke loved the ocean. Just like the view from Polis Tower, looking out on the endless sea made her feel small. So small. But on its edge, she didn’t feel lost. She felt... Found. 

She wished she could run out into the churning waves. Far... Far... Out until her feet couldn’t find the bottom anymore. She wanted to let the waters carry her and she wanted to give in to their push and pull. She wanted to tumble weightlessly and powerlessly in their depths. Again she wished she could swim. And more than anything else... As she stood on the edge of the sea, the edge of the world... She wished Lexa was standing beside her. She wished she wasn’t alone.

“It’s incredible.” Raven said in a reverent whisper, suddenly appearing by Clarke’s side.

“Incredible.” Abby echoed from Clarke’s other side as she wrapped an arm around Clarke’s waist.

“Incredible.” Clarke agreed. And she was smiling. Because she was not alone.

They stood in silence for a long moment, listening to the rhythmic sighing of the sea. Then Clarke slowly pulled her blue eyes from the gray waters and turned them to the rocky shore. 

“We need to build a fire.” She said, scanning the shore for driftwood.

 

*** 

 

The acidic green smoke rising from the flames made Clarke’s eyes sting and left a sour taste on the back of her tongue. She threw another branch on the dancing flames, choking against the fumes, waiting. 

It didn’t take long. The Grounders rose from the water silently, ominously, like living ghosts. It seemed overly dramatic to Clarke. Why didn’t they just use a boat like normal people? The first man approached the fire, removing his breathing mask and fixing Clarke with a silent stare as she stepped forward to meet him.

“Ai laik Clarke kom Skaikru,” she began, remembering the words Octavia had instructed her to use... The words Lincoln had taught her. “En ai gaf gouthru klir.”

“You sky people do not know when to quit, do you?” The man replied in English. “Sister Luna has already spoken to your friends this afternoon. Her answer remains unchanged. You waste her time with your arguments. You waste your own time. You will not convince her.”

“We are not here to convince Luna to become Commander.” Clarke said. 

“The man eyed her with a skeptical, suspicious frown. “Do all members of Skaikru suffer from a penchant for deceitfulness?” He asked. 

“I do not know what you are referring to.” Clarke answered, confused by his hostility and slightly offended. “We only wish to speak to Luna. The content of the matter does not concern you. We aren’t hostile.” She added, eyeing the pointed tip of the man’s long fishing spear. “We come in friendship.”

“Like I said,” The man replied. “A penchant for deceitfulness.Your friend came dressed as Trikru and identified herself as such but I was not fooled. I could smell the stench of space on her as clearly as I smell it on you.”

“I’m sorry...” Clarke replied. “Have I done something to offend you?”

“You come to disturb our peace and uproot our way of life.” The man answered. “You seek to bring our crew into your quarrels and wars. You say you come in friendship, yet you bring strife. The last time we gave Skaikru safe passage you brought pain, suffering, and death onto our vessel. We lost seven brothers and sisters. Because of you, their spirits have been returned to the sea. Now, I advise you to leave the banks of our sea and return to your home. Sister Luna wants no part of your struggles or your wars.”

“I told you that is not why we have come.” Clarke pressed on stubbornly. She was not intimidated. This man, looming menacingly before her in his dark wetsuit was not going to stand in the way of Clarke and her mission. Luna’s blood was the key to getting back to Lexa. She was sure of it. And no one was going to keep her from obtaining it. 

“We need to speak with Luna.” Clarke repeated. “It is a matter of extreme importance and urgency. The safety and survival of Floudonkru depend on our meeting with her. So once again... Ai gaf gouthru klir.”

The man narrowed his eyes at her, clenching his jaw, as he procured three small vials of liquid from a pocket of his militaristic diving jacket. Raven and Abby stared nervously at the vials as Clarke uncapped hers. 

“You may want to sit down.” She warned them as she dropped to her knees and choked down the bitter liquid. 

“I’ve granted you safe passage onto our vessel, Sky girl.” The man spoke from above her. “But bring death upon us again and you will not receive safe passage back to shore. I will return your spirit to the sea, myself.”

Clarke stared into the man’s narrow eyes and knew he meant every word he spoke. But she was not frightened as the man’s face grew blurry before her and she felt her own face slam into pebbles and stone. She was getting back to Lexa and no man was going to stand in her way. She swore it to herself as the darkness took her.


	7. Stubborn Women

7  
Stubborn Women

CLARKE

 

Clarke opened her heavy eyes to spot Octavia sitting across from her, flipping through the pages of a worn journal. Surprised, Clarke closed her eyes again, shaking her foggy head, thinking she must be imagining things. But when she opened them again, Octavia was still there, now staring at her. Clarke was utterly confused. She was sprawled on a cold metal floor she had no memory of ever lying down on. Where was she? And why was Octavia suddenly with her?

“Octavia?” She asked, groggily. “What are you doing here?”

“Funny...” Octavia answered. “I was about to ask you the same question."

She set her journal aside and Clarke caught a glimpse of a beautiful drawing of Octavia. It was Lincoln’s work, the work of an artist in love. And it was of the old Octavia, smiling, looking so young and innocent, so different from the Octavia sitting before her now with black paint on her face and braids in her hair and pain in her eyes. 

Lincoln’s drawing made Clarke think of her own drawing of Lexa propped safely on her bedside table right above the drawer where she kept all her valuables: her father’s old dead watch, the queen chess piece Wells had given to her when they were only children, the double-headed deer Finn had given her months ago, lifetimes ago. These were her most treasured possessions. Except for the flame, which she carried with her everywhere she went because she could not bring herself to tuck it away into the safety of her room.

 

Clarke rubbed at her eyes. She was not in the safety of her room right now. She wasn’t even in Arkadia. She pushed herself into a seated position as her senses cleared and the memories started coming back to her. They were in a large shipping crate, bright sunshine pouring in through holes cut in the steel above them. There was a scratching on the roof of the crate and she heard the strange sharp cries of a seagull drift down from above. She spotted Raven and Abby laying beside her, still knocked out.

Clarke turned to Octavia. “Have you spoken with Luna yet?” She asked.

“Yes.” Octavia answered simply.

Clarke patiently waited for her to elaborate, but Octavia just snagged Lincoln’s journal and tucked it safely into the folds of her pack.

“So...” Clarke continued tentatively. “How did it go?”

Octavia just frowned. A deep soulful voice answered for her. “Not well.”

Clarke turned to see the silhouette of Indra standing in the bright opening of the crate. She stepped inside and propped herself against the wall beside Octavia. 

Octavia shrugged defensively. “The woman is more stubborn than Indra.”

“That’s rich!” Indra replied. “Coming from the most stubborn girl I’ve ever had the hassle of training.”

Clarke just smiled at the pair of bickering women, laughing to herself. Her mother was right... Stubborn women made the world a better place. 

“So...” Octavia spoke. “Have you come here to try and convince her too? Because, if so... Good luck.” 

“No.” Clarke answered. “I could care less about whether Luna becomes the new Commander or not. I don’t give a damn about Polis or the coalition right now. I’m just here for her blood.”

Indra and Octavia stared blankly at her, confused. Then all three of them jumped as a man’s voice broke the silence. Clarke recognized it as the same hostile voice of the man from the beach. “Sister Luna will see you now, Sky Girl.” He spat and disappeared into the sunshine.

 

*** 

 

“You’re lucky Sister Luna is more patient than I am, Sky Girl.” The man told her as he pushed open a heavy metal door. Clarke followed him inside. Luna was sitting at a table, bouncing a little girl on her knee. 

“The Sky-Rat is here to see you, Sister Luna.” The man announced in Trigedasleng. 

“Thank you, Ander.” She replied. “You may go. Take this little munchkin with you.” Luna added, lifting the girl out before her, burying her face in the girl’s tummy, and blowing raspberries until the girl’s shrieks and giggles filled the room. Then she set the girl on her feet and gave her a gentle nudge towards Ander. “Be good for Brother Ander, Alexia.”

Clarke felt a jolt in her stomach at the name. The girl, all smiles and giggles and crazy black curls, smiled up at Clarke as she brushed past her and took Ander’s extended hand. 

“Come on, Little Monster.” Ander smiled as his fingers softly engulfed the girl’s hand. “Your mother has a vermin problem to take care of.”

“I apologize for Ander’s lack of hospitality skills.” Luna let out a small laugh as the man and girl disappeared through the doorway. “I don’t think he is aware you speak Trigedasleng.”

Clarke was surprised that Luna knew she had understood. She must have read it on Clarke’s face. Luna was clearly observant and clearly sharp.

“You named your daughter, Alexia?” Clarke asked, unable to stop herself. The sight of the giggling girl, the sound of her name, had left a strange mixture of joy and sadness inside of her. A bitterness and a sweetness. 

Luna let out a small, sad sigh. “Lexa was like a sister to me.” She said. “We were both taken from our families before we were old enough to even form memories of them. We grew up side by side. We did everything side by side... Sleeping, studying, training, fighting, eating...” She paused to nod her head at the seat across from her at the table. Clarke eyed the empty place setting warily. She hesitated.

“Join me.” Luna insisted.

Clarke sat down awkwardly but Luna seemed relaxed and comfortable. She pushed a platter towards Clarke and the scent of fried fish immediately set her mouth to watering. She hadn’t realized it until this moment... She was ravenous. Still, she hesitated.

“Go on... Eat.” Luna commanded, handing her a basket of some kind of flat bread. Clarke tentatively reached for a piece of the bread and flopped a fish onto her plate. Still intact, it looked up at her with lifeless eyes as if judging her. She took a small bite. It was salty and greasy and absolutely delicious and Clarke struggled to restrain herself from devouring it like a wild animal.

“Yes,” Luna continued. “Lexa was like a sister to me. She was a good commander. She was a good person.” She paused to swallow hard before fixing her gaze on Clarke. “Did she die well?”

It wasn’t the first time Clarke had heard those words and instantly her mind was back in the tent with Lexa on the very first day they had met. Lexa had sat upon her giant throne, surrounded by her heavily armed guards, her eyes painted black, twirling her long knife in her long fingertips. Everything about her appearance had been designed to intimidate Clarke. And Clarke HAD been intimidated, but she had done her best not to show it. But within minutes Lexa had uttered that same exact question and Clarke had seen Lexa’s love for her fallen mentor, and already Clarke had caught a glimpse of the fiercely compassionate heart buried within the commander.

Clarke didn’t know how to respond to Luna’s question. Had Lexa died well? Which time? Clarke thought, bitterly. In the City of Light Lexa had died a warrior, paint and blood on her face, a sword swinging in each hand. But in the real world her death had had no honor, no meaning. It was nothing more than a terrible accident. And Lexa had deserved better. She had died a death unbefitting a warrior.   
But she had still died a warrior. Because, even as she had lain there, bleeding out, struggling to breathe, she had not been afraid. She had not pitied herself. She had not pleaded with death. And all of her concern had been for Clarke, not herself. Until the very end she was still trying to protect Clarke. And she had told Clarke not to be afraid. And she had told Clarke that life WAS about more than just surviving. Because Lexa knew that it was easier to die than it was to be left behind. Because Lexa understood.

 

Clarke put her fork down and pushed her plate away because the hurt and the longing were back in her belly and there was no room left for hunger. Luna was still waiting for an answer Clarke could not give her. 

“I didn’t come here to talk about Lexa.” Clarke said simply.

“I know what you came here to talk about.” Luna replied, pushing her own unfinished plate away. It seemed they were done with the polite formalities. “I told you once before. I told your friends a second time. Now I am telling you for the third and final time... I have no interest in becoming Commander. Even if I was the better fighter, I always knew Lexa would be the better commander. I have no desire to lead the Coalition. My place is here, with my people.”

“I didn’t come here to talk about that either.” Clarke replied, ignoring the confused look on Luna’s face. “Frankly, I don’t give a damn about whether or not you agree to become the next Commander. Polis is a mess. But that’s not my problem. If the alliance of the clans falls and war breaks out, it is Grounder blood that will flow. I suppose that is not your problem either. For all I care you can spend the rest of your life floating around out here in the middle of the ocean, your back turned on the rest of the world, pretending it does not exist. I have no right to judge you.” She shrugged. “Or to be disappointed in you.”

“Although,” She paused, eyeing Luna. Luna’s eyebrows were furrowed and she was wearing a half-frown as if unsure of whether or not she should be offended.

“I am surprised.” Clarke continued. “Because Lexa spent years working towards peace and building beauty and life out of ugliness and war and death. She united the clans and every decision she made was for the good of her people... your people. Because Lexa dreamed of peace for everyone. All of her people. Not just Trikru. Not just Floudonkru. Everyone. And you were born to lead and raised to lead and trained to lead. And you say you want peace. And here is your opportunity to salvage the peace that Lexa worked and lived and died for.”

“And I’m just surprised.” Clarke repeated. “Because If you loved Lexa like a sister, I’m surprised you are willing to just sit here and let everything good and beautiful she built collapse back into ugliness and chaos. But like I said...” Clarke paused to shrug again. “That’s your prerogative. And I’m not here to convince you otherwise.”

Luna’s half-frown deepened into a proper, full-blown one. “If you are not here to convince me to take the flame, then why are you here, Clarke kom Skaikru? Why are you in need of me?”

“I’m not.” Clarke replied, leaning back in her chair casually. “Polis may need you. Your people may need you. But I don’t. I don’t need you... I only need your blood.”

Luna’s frown faltered momentarily as surprise and confusion crossed her face.   
“My blood?” She asked, leaning forward, her frown suddenly returning in full force. “You want my blood? Are you attempting to threaten me, Clarke kom Skaikru?” She growled dangerously. “Because no one threatens my life on my vessel.”

“No.” Clarke replied, fighting the urge to laugh. “I don’t mean I want your life. I literally mean I want your blood. Just some of your blood.” She clarified quickly, as Luna continued to glare. “I need a sample of nightblood, and as far as I know, you’re the only one still breathing.”

“Why do you need nightblood?” Luna asked, the anger in her voice yielding slightly with her confused curiosity.

Here we go... Clarke thought to herself, wondering where to begin. She did her best to channel Raven as she explained the situation and tried to answer Luna’s questions. After ten minutes of struggling, Luna was still wearing that confused frown.

“Look...” Clarke sighed. “My friend is a science buff. She can explain it a lot better than I can. But the bottom line is we just need some of your blood. Then we will be on our merry way and you can go back to pretending we don’t exist in peace.”

Luna leaned back in her chair, pensively wriggling her jaw for a long moment. Finally she opened her mouth to answer, “No.” 

“No?” Clarke repeated in surprise. She was sure she had made a rather convincing argument. “No? Why the hell not? It’s just some blood. It doesn’t cost you anything. And it could end up saving everyone... My people and your people included. Why wouldn’t you agree?”

Luna crossed her arms over her chest. “Because... I don’t like needles.” She finished with a shrug.

 

*** 

 

“I can’t believe a woman who fights like a goddamn ninja is afraid of needles.” Clarke laughed as Luna flinched at Abby’s touch. All Abby was doing was cleaning the crook of Luna’s elbow with iodine and already Clarke could see the fear in the woman’s eyes. “And you claim you would have beaten Lexa in the conclave...”

“I WOULD have beaten Lexa.” Luna snarled back. “I’m afraid of needles, not swords.”

Clarke just rolled her eyes. Luna did fight like a goddamn ninja. But Clarke had watched Lexa take down Roan. Clarke had seen her leap into a crowd of adversaries in the City of Light, a blade in each hand, and cut them down like a rabid doberman amongst kittens. Lexa had possessed more than just tenacity and skill with a blade. She had possessed a fearlessness unlike anything Clarke had ever witnessed. 

 

“Alright... It’s time.” Abby warned, gripping the needle so that its tip hovered centimeters from Luna’s skin. “Shall I count to three?”

“Shall I hold your hand?” Clarke asked Luna with a teasing laugh.

Ever since Luna had begrudgingly agreed to give her a pint of her blood, Clarke had felt more than relieved and happy. She felt downright giddy. Stubborn as she was, Clarke decided that Luna wasn’t so bad after all. Clarke even felt that, under different circumstances, the two of them could be friends, thick friends. She could imagine Luna and Lexa as children, bickering and fighting over the covers at night, constantly trying to best each other in the training yard, surprise-attacking each other with wooden swords and giggles, sharing whispered secrets and hopes and dreams of a future they knew could only ever come true for one of them, and holding hands in the silence and leaning on each other for strength when the reality of the ever-looming conclave left no room for words. Clarke wished she could have seen Lexa as a child, her warpaint smudged clumsily over rosy cheeks, running through the woods and laughing with a gap-toothed grin. 

 

A quick slap on the back of her hand shook Clarke from her daydreams.

“Just get it over with.” Luna commanded, turning her face away and shutting her eyes as Clarke shook the stinging from her hand where Luna had slapped it.

The needle slipped easily, anti-climatically, into Luna’s arm. Blood, black as ink, quickly traversed the tube and began to spill steadily over into the blood bag.

“Wow!” Raven whispered, the nerdy scientist in her watching in fascination. “It really is black.”

“You can open your eyes now, Luna.” Clarke teased. 

“Try not to move,” Abby instructed. “Just keep pumping your fingers occasionally. You’re doing great.”

“The things I do for my people.” Luna mumbled. 

And Clarke thought of the last time she had watched black blood travel through a tube. And Clarke laughed because Luna had no idea what kinds of things Clarke would do for her people. And Clarke grinned stupidly as she watched the blood bag swell, because she was one step closer to Lexa. 

 

*** 

 

“Are these really necessary?” Clarke sassed Ander as he handed her the tiny vial. Broody as ever, the man answered her with a glare.

“Sister Luna may view you as a friend,” He replied. “But I know from experience that the line between friend and foe is a blurry one. You’re just lucky your visit was so short. I did not have enough time to convince Sister Luna to let me throw you into the sea.” He said, as all around Clarke, her companions fell one-by-one into unconsciousness. “Be grateful that you are drinking Dreamsea Serum. If you had stayed here any longer you would be drinking saltwater.” He paused and switched from English to Trigedasleng with a smirk. “Bottom’s up, Sky-Rat.”

Clarke downed the bitter serum. “If I had to stay here with you any longer,” She replied perfectly in his Grounder tongue, laughing at the surprise on his face. “I’d throw MYSELF overboard, Sea-Monkey.” 

Ander’s face blurred. But Clarke thought she glimpsed the hint of a smile playing on it as the world dissolved around her. 

 

*** 

 

“Where will you go?” Clarke asked as Octavia wriggled quickly out of her hug. Clarke would have held her longer. She would have held her until Octavia knew she was not alone. She would have held her until Octavia knew that it was OK to fall and break apart. She would have held her until Octavia found the strength to put the pieces of herself back together. She would have held Octavia as Raven had held her. But it seemed Octavia was not yet ready to be held. And Clarke understood.

“I already told Raven...” Octavia spat. “I’m not going back to Arkadia.” 

“I wasn’t asking you to.” Clarke softly replied. “I never expected you to.”

Octavia’s angry expression softened. For a moment she looked ashamed, even repentant. But she didn’t apologize. And Clarke didn’t expect her to. And Clarke didn’t want her to. Because Octavia was angry. And Octavia was hurting. And Octavia was lost. And Clarke understood. 

“I don’t know what’s next.” Octavia admitted in a small voice that sounded strange and all wrong in Clarke’s ears. Usually Octavia’s voice was tinged with sass and cockiness and defiance and humor. But now all it held was fear and confusion and uncertainty. “I suppose I’ll probably follow Indra back to Ton DC, back to Trikru... What’s left of it.”

Clarke could tell by the nervous swallow that she gave and the far-away look of longing in her hollow hazel eyes that the idea of returning to Ton DC both terrified and excited her. And she knew without asking that Octavia was thinking of Lincoln and all of the memories that village held and the pain those memories would conjure. And Clarke knew that Octavia both loathed the memories and craved them. Because Clarke understood. 

“I’m making a trip to Polis as soon as I can.” Clarke told her, thinking again of Becca’s journal. “Maybe the two of you could join me?”

Octavia shrugged as she retrieved her sword from the pile of their weapons and possessions lying in a heap on the stony shore where Floudonkru had dumped them. She glanced at Indra saying goodbye to Abby on the edge of the trees where the shoreline gave way to forest. 

“Maybe.” Was all that she said. She turned from Clarke and started towards Indra, but Clarke grabbed her wrist and pulled her back. 

“Hey...” Clarke said as Octavia turned to her confused and tried to pull free of her grasp. Clarke’s grip slipped from her wrist but she clung fiercely to her hand. “Mebi oso na hit choda op nodotaim.”

Octavia didn’t reply, but she gave Clarke the weakest, saddest of smiles as Clarke finally let their fingertips drift apart.

 

Clarke turned her gaze back towards the sea where Raven was perched on a log at the water’s edge still watching the mesmerizing push and pull of the waves. “Raven, let’s go.”

Clarke crouched to retrieve her own belongings from the stones beneath her. But she leapt back to her feet at the sudden sound of a voice directly behind her. A voice that was not Raven’s.

“Octavia kom Trikru!” The woman called out and Clarke swiveled around to see Luna standing mere feet from her, flanked by Ander and another five members of her crew. 

Where the hell had they come from? Clarke wondered as she struggled to calm her startled heart. Luna and her stealthy goddamn ninja skills.

Octavia paused on the edge of the forest looking just as surprised as Clarke. 

“Hod op!” Luna called out in Trigedasleng for Octavia to stop. Luna was acknowledging the Grounder in Octavia, addressing her as Trikru, not Skaikru, and Clarke could not help but feel a small wave of gratitude on her friend’s behalf.

“We’re coming with you.” Luna called to Octavia as she walked right past Clarke with only a quick nod of acknowledgment.

Clarke stared after her in confusion, then stumbled forward from a small, playful shove between her shoulder blades. “I guess you are more persuasive than I am, Sky-Rat.” Ander spoke in Trigedasleng, smirking as he moved to join his crew and his leader.

“Where are you going?” Clarke called after him. 

He didn’t bother to turn around. “Polis.” He answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

 

Raven sidled up beside Clarke, watching with her as the Grounders, Trikru and Floudonkru alike, stepped into the trees. 

“So, if Luna is going to become the new Commander, after all...” Raven spoke. “Won’t she need the flame?”

“I told her it was destroyed along with ALIE and the City of Light.” Clarke answered, avoiding Raven’s knowing eyes. “I mean... It pretty much was, right? It’s just a piece of plastic now, right?” Clarke mumbled. She tried to shrug casually as she finally met Raven’s gaze.

“It was never just a piece of plastic.” Raven answered, her voice soft and serious, because Raven understood. 

“But if anyone asks...” She added with a wry smile. “That’s what we’ll tell them.” And she shot Clarke a wink before hobbling her way up the shore towards Abby.

Clarke slung her pack over her shoulder with one arm as her other hand dug its way through the familiar folds of her cloak. She turned her gaze to the endless blue-gray ocean a final time.

“May we meet again.” She whispered into the wind before turning her back on the sea and following Raven and Abby into the shadows of the forest. And it wasn’t until she climbed into the backseat of the rover that Clarke noticed the piece of plastic still cradled in her hand.


	8. Flipping Right

8  
Flipping Right

CLARKE

“No.” Abby shook her head, flipping through the pages of Raven’s scribbles. “These numbers can’t be right. It’s not possible. They can’t be right.”

“That’s exactly what I thought you would say.” Raven replied, her wide, brown eyes glinting with excitement. “So I went ahead and ran them again. They’re right.”

“No.” Abby repeated. “It’s not possible. They can’t be right. It’s not HUMANLY possible.” She handed the messy stack of papers back to Raven. “Run them again.”

“I knew you’d say that too.” Raven laughed, unable to contain her excitement even in the direct face of Abby’s skepticism and general, downright negativity. “So,” She continued. “After I ran them again, I ran them AGAIN. I’m telling you, Abby... The numbers are right.”

“It’s not possible.” Abby just said again, snatching the papers back from Raven and flopping them onto the desk. She didn’t even bother to sit down as she hunched herself over them, determinedly searching the scribbles for some critical error.

“Check my math...” Raven challenged her. “Check my chemistry. They’re right, Abby. The numbers are fucking right.” She paused and let out a quick “Sorry,” catching her tongue a moment too late. In her excitement she had momentarily forgotten that Abby wasn’t just a friend, but also a mother and a doctor and kind-of a chancellor, and someone she probably shouldn’t cuss in front of. “I mean... The numbers are FLIPPING right.” She corrected.

“OK...” Clarke cut in, impatiently, rubbing at her burning eyes. “Did you two drag my ass out of bed in the FLIPPING,” she paused, drawing out the word in imitation of Raven. “middle of the FLIPPING night just so that I could listen to you bicker about numbers? Are you going to fill me in? Or can I go back to bed? What the hell is so impossible?”

Raven and Abby both ignored Clarke’s sassy whines. Clarke seriously considered ditching them as they started at it again. But she was already up and she knew that if she went back to her warm bed she would probably just lie there unable to sleep, wondering about the many ‘impossibles’ that had plagued her thoughts ever since she had let the icy river numb the rational part of her brain. So she just plunked down in a chair and tried her best to decipher their arguments.

“These mineral concentrations can’t be right.” Abby stated. “The iron is incredibly high. The zinc and selenium levels are even higher. And the manganese is...”

“Off the charts.” Raven finished for her. “I know. I’m guessing it's the high concentration of manganese in the plasma that’s responsible for the blood’s overall black coloration!”

“These levels can’t be right.” Abby repeated yet again, completely ignoring Raven’s nerdy enthusiasm. “She should be suffering from multiple cases of mineral toxicity. With this concentration of manganese, she should have developed chronic manganism years ago. These mineral levels should be lethal.”

“Yes, they should be.” Raven agreed. “And they WOULD be. Except for one little detail... Her blood is saturated with DPTA.”

“Humans can’t produce diethylenetriamine pentaacetic acid.” Abby countered. “DPTA has to be synthetically manufactured in a lab and intraveneously administered. And, by her fear of needles, I’m guessing Luna isn’t receiving regular, weekly treatments of it.”

“NORMAL humans can’t produce DPTA.” Raven corrected her. “But Luna’s body is producing it. Don’t you see... It’s fuc... I mean... FLIPPING... brilliant. Iron, zinc, selenium, manganese... These minerals all function as powerful antioxidants. Such high concentrations of these minerals in Luna’s blood has caused a decrease in her rate of aging, an increase in her rate of healing and recovery, increased energy levels and stamina, increased mental acuity, improved immunity... I’m guessing Luna has never been sick a day in her life. And it explains why Nightbloods are such exceptional warriors and prime candidates for leadership.” Raven was talking so fast, Clarke’s sleepy mind was struggling to follow. But Raven had her attention now, because all of those qualities she had just listed Clarke had witnessed in Lexa and so far Raven’s crazy talk was making sense.

Raven paused to take a deep breath before continuing. “But... Like you said, levels this high also have negative effects on the body. In you or me, they would cause mineral poisoning. But somehow, Luna’s body is manufacturing DPTA. Which not only buffers the effects of the minerals... It’s also conveniently battling the effects of outside sources of radiation. It’s like her body is constantly undergoing natural chelation treatments!”

Abby didn’t respond. Once again, she buried her nose in Raven’s papers, doggedly searching them for some miscalculation or omittance of an overlooked variable. 

Clarke turned her tired eyes to Raven’s bright, lively ones. “What are you saying, Raven?” She asked. “Can Luna survive a level 10 or 11 of those see-whatevers?”

“According to my calculations,” Raven answered with a grin. “She can survive not only 10 or 11 sieverts. Her blood can metabolize up to 15 sieverts of radiation an hour!”

“So...” Clarke replied, feeling Raven’s excitement catch in her own blood like a communicable disease. “Are you saying that Luna could survive the nuclear meltdown?”

“I’m saying...” Raven started, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. “That Luna could walk herself right smack-dab into the fucking...” She paused, glancing at Abby. But Abby, still hovering over Raven’s papers, didn’t appear to be listening. “The flipping...” Raven continued. “core of a power plant mid-catastrophic-meltdown, make herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, read the entirety of Tolstoy’s War and Peace and lie down for a goddamn leisurely nap in nothing but her undies.”

“And her skin wouldn’t melt off?” Clarke asked, feeling her own cheeks pull into a tentative smile. 

“She wouldn’t so much as get a sunburn.” Raven answered. 

Clarke and Raven were still grinning at each other stupidly when Abby finally got up from the paper-strewn desk. “They’re right.” She said in a small, bewildered voice. “The numbers are right. They’re FUCKING right.” 

 

*** 

 

“Murphy?!” Raven asked with a confused frown. “Out of all of Arkadia, you’re picking MURPHY to go with you?”

“Well...” Clarke argued. “Since my first choice just wants to stay here and be a total nerd...”

“This blood is fascinating!” Raven argued, only further proving Clarke right. “I just wish I had another whole liter of it to test. This morning I was examining the leucocytes... The white blood cells,” she paused to explain, misinterpreting Clarke’s blank expression for confusion rather than disinterest. “Well...” She rambled on. “Luna’s equivalent of white blood cells, that is... Because even after separating them out from the black plasma via centrifuge, really they’re still more like gray blood cells...”

“Does this train of thought have a caboose?” Clarke interrupted, rolling her eyes.

Raven just laughed and plowed on. “I’m getting to it. Just wait... It’s really exciting... I was examining the leucocytes and I found traces of pyrolusite in the cytosol! Pyrolusite!” She repeated, excitedly. “It’s an ore of manganese.” She explained as Clarke continued to stare. 

Clarke just shook her head at her. She was such a nerd. And Clarke loved her for it. “Right... That IS exciting.” She said sarcastically. “Anyway... Since you’re busy being crazy science geek, I have to go with an alternate.”

“Yeah... But MURPHY?” Raven asked again. “He can’t be your second draft pick. What about Jasper? Or Monty? Or Harper?”

“Jasper is still busy recovering from the wound where Monty shot him and Monty, when he’s not busy being a love-sick puppy with Harper, is still busy recovering from the wound where Jasper stabbed him.” Clarke laughed.

“I guess that’s true.” Raven conceded. “And you can’t take Octavia because she’s currently avoiding all of us. And you can’t take Bell because you are currently avoiding him...”

“What?” Clarke replied, completely taken aback. She had not told anyone about the skinny-dipping incident. “I’m not avoiding Bellamy.” She argued. “I’ve just been... He’s been...” Clarke stuttered, searching for an excuse as Raven patiently waited with pursed lips and a cocked eyebrow. “OK... Maybe I’m avoiding him.” Clarke admitted. “God, Raven...” She sighed. “You don’t miss anything, do you?”

“You both turn bright red anytime you happen to step into the same room.” Raven laughed. “It’s pretty damn obvious something happened between you. I’m guessing one of you accidentally saw the other naked?”

“Yeah... Something like that.” Clarke mumbled quickly. “Plus... Even if I wasn’t avoiding him, I can’t take Bellamy. I just want to get in and get out quietly. And, let’s be real, if I take Bell, he’ll probably end up shooting someone and we’ll end up in another fucking war.” She sighed.

“Anyway...” Clarke continued. “Murphy wasn’t my first choice, but when I think about it, he might actually be the best option. I mean... Out of all of us, he is the most familiar with the Polaris room, seeing as he was held captive and tortured there. Plus, we’re sorta...” She paused, searching for the right words. She considered calling him a ‘friend’ but wasn’t sure the title fit quite right. And she knew she had to choose her next words carefully considering the history between Raven and Murphy. After all, he was the one responsible for the huge brace of plastic and steel wrapped awkwardly around Raven’s knee. But, like all of them, Murphy had changed a lot over the last six months. Clarke knew he wasn’t the same dick he had been when they crash landed. Even if he was still a smart-ass. Some things never change, no matter what shit you go through. 

“I trust him.” She finished. And the words felt right.

“If you say so.” Raven shrugged. “Honestly, I’m surprised the selfish, uncooperative ass even agreed to go with you.”

“I haven’t asked him yet.” Clarke replied.

Raven just laughed. “It’s a good thing you’re damn good at wrangling people into things, Clarke Griffin.”


	9. Rising

9  
Rising

OCTAVIA

The man’s beady eyes keep flickering over me as he speaks. And I don’t like the way he looks at me, a small smirk pulling at his lips, leaving tiny creases in the scars on his cheeks. And I can feel the anger rising in me again. 

It starts deep inside the pit of my stomach and crawls slowly up my throat until I can taste it, bitter, metallic, like blood on the tip of my tongue, making my lip curl. With it comes the heat, spreading through my chest, spilling down my arms and into my clenched fists until my fingers shake. By the time the heat reaches my face the blood is already pounding in my ears and fogging my brain like a drug.

I welcome the anger. Not because I enjoy it, but because its sensations have become so familiar. The anger is not my friend. It is not my enemy. But it has become my faithful companion, none the less. It is the only thing I can always count on to be there.

“I am the only remaining Nightblood.” Luna tells the man again. “The Commander’s throne is my birthright.” 

Her voice is calm, controlled, steady. She sits upright, regally, as if already perched on the massive throne. Though in reality, the throne is bare and she sits in Floudonkru’s designated chair, only one of thirteen identical ones arranged in a circle in the stone chamber. Like the throne, two of the chairs are empty: Skaikru’s cold and bare, Azgeda’s still warm. The Ice Nation’s delegate paces the circle, addressing everyone though his eyes repeatedly linger on Luna and flicker over me. I stand beside Ander in the gap between Luna’s and Indra’s chairs, bridging Trikru and Floudonkru.

“Any claim you had to the throne you forfeited the night you fled your conclave.” The man argues. His ugly, cold voice echoes off the stone walls and finds its way into my chest and I feel the anger rising. “You are a disgrace to the black blood in your veins. It ought to have been spilled long ago, if not by Lexa, then by Ontari. Nightblood or not, we don’t need another weak, timid woman on the Commander’s throne. We don’t need another Lexa.”

I can see Luna’s posture stiffen at his words. But she makes no reply. 

“The last commander was Ice Nation.” The man continues. “And the next one shall be as well. King Arlen...”

“King Arlen...” Indra interrupts the man in the deep, powerful voice that I respect more than any other. “Is not a Nightblood and, as such, has no claim to the throne.”

“In the event that there are no SUITABLE Nightbloods to rule,” The man replies, narrowing his icy blue-gray eyes at Indra. “As is the present case, it falls upon the council to select a non-Nightblood to lead as Regent Commander until a worthy Nightblood arises. I propose the council select King Arlen of Azgeda, brother of the late King Roan, son of the late Queen Nia to serve as Commander.”

A few small cheers erupt from the people crowded around the edges of the room. A handful of the seated clan ambassadors nod in approval. But most remain silent, their eyes fluttering back and forth between Luna and the Azgeda delegate as Luna speaks again.

“The council cannot make any decision without all of its members present, Ronto.” She speaks.

“Azgeda still does not recognize the legitimacy of Skaikru.” Ronto spits at Luna. “Of all of the mistakes Lexa made, inviting the Sky People into the Alliance of the Clans was her greatest moment of incompetency.”

“Skaikru took the brand.” Indra counters. “As such, Luna kom Floudonkru is correct... The council can make no decision without a delegate from the thirteenth clan present.”

Ronto’s eyes flicker over me again. But this time his gaze lingers. “We have a member of Skaikru present.” He growls. And I still do not like the way he looks at me. And I feel the anger rising inside. “Why don’t you take a seat, Sky Girl?”

Before I realize it, I’ve taken a step towards him. I’m close enough to reach out and trace the ugly marks on his face. I’m close enough to smell the stink of his breath. I clench my fists. Open them. Clench them again. I feel the anger rising.

“Ai laik Octavia kom Trikru.” I spit the words at him. My voice is low and gravelly and dangerous. I hear the screech of a chair against stone and suddenly I feel the warm weight of a hand on my shoulder. The sensation is so familiar that for one instant, one glorious instant, I forget that he is gone.

How many times has the simple weight of Lincoln’s hand on my shoulder steadied me? Kept me grounded? His hands were so strong. His hands were so gentle. How many times had his calming touch kept me from doing something rash? But the hand on my shoulder is not Lincoln’s. It is Indra’s. And I feel the anger rising. And her touch cannot quell it.

“Hearing our tongue dishonored by your lips makes my ears bleed, Sky Girl.” Ronto says to me. “Stop pretending to be one of us and take your proper seat... At our feet.”

I stare into his beady blue-gray eyes. I want to gouge them out. I want to watch the light drain from them. I want to darken them forever. “I am Trikru.” I repeat.

“Paint on your face...” Ronto snarls. “A sword on your back... Braids in your hair...” He reaches out and touches a lock of my hair. The fingers on my shoulder tighten their grip. Indra means to hold me back. But I feel the anger rising.

“These things cannot make you a Grounder.” Ronto spits in my face.

I feel the anger rising. And I welcome it. 

“You’re right.” I say in Trigedasleng, drawing my sword from my back and plunging it into him. His beady eyes grow wide with surprise as I drive the blade in deeper. “It’s what’s on the inside that makes you a Grounder.”

And his insides spill out of him as I pull my blade from his stomach. His body crumples to the floor at my feet. I delve the tip of my sword into the cavern of one ear until it bleeds. Everyone in the chamber watches me as I watch the light drain from Ronto’s blue-gray eyes. And for one moment it is the brown eyes of Pike that I see growing dark before me. And again I have no words. Because the anger is still inside of me, and once again the blood cannot quell it. 

So I turn my back on the dying man and no one tries to stop me as I walk silently across the stone chamber and out the door.

 

*** 

 

Helios snorts into my palm as he plows through the oats in my hand, covering my fingers in saliva and mucus and hot horse-breath and scattering the ground with slobbery oats. As he inhales the last of the oats his huge yellow teeth clamp onto my thumb and I suck in a sharp breath at the pain. It’s not the first time Helios has bitten me. I’m sure it will not be the last. I should expect it by now. 

I pull my thumb from his mouth and inspect the damage. His powerful jaws could crush right through the bone, but he rarely even breaks the skin. Still, it throbs.

“You little shit.” I whisper into his ear as I give it a quick nip. But I feel a smile on my face because in all of the world, Helios is my favorite thing. I stroke his mane and he turns his massive head, now trying to nuzzle into the crook of my elbow. Helios has always been Lincoln’s horse. He tolerates me. But he is Lincoln’s horse, and he constantly reminds me of that whenever he gets the chance: nipping my fingers, purposefully walking under low branches so that I have to duck to avoid being unseated, or suddenly veering sideways so that my leg scrapes against the bark of the trees as we pass. He can be a real shit.

But afterwards, he always tries to nuzzle me and make up and I wonder if he knows. If he knows that Lincoln is gone and that he is stuck with me and if he has decided to make the best of it. And I can’t blame Helios for choosing Lincoln over me. I would have too. And if I were him... If I were stuck with me... I would be a real shit too. 

I pat his neck and I feel the anger receding within me, retreating back into the hollow space inside of me from which it came. Now that Lincoln is gone, Helios is the only one who calms me, who helps me drive the anger back. And with my fingers tangled in his dark mane, I can finally breathe again.

 

I sit and I wait. I should clean the blood from my blade, but I find myself reaching into my pack instead, my fingers searching for the familiar worn leather of Lincoln’s journal. I rifle through its faded pages, as I’ve done a thousand times before. My eyes flicker over the pages but my mind is somewhere else completely. I don’t ever really look at the drawings anymore. I have memorized every single one of them so that I can see them more clearly on the back of my eyelids than I can on the faded pages. Still, something inside of me craves the familiar feeling of the journal’s weight in my hands, the texture of its paper beneath my fingertips. And I suppose it has become habit now.

 

“Lincoln always did have the soul of an artist.” Luna speaks as she plunks down beside me. I did not invite her to join me and I do not acknowledge her presence now. I glance down at the journal in my hands, not at all surprised to find it is open to the page of Lincoln’s first drawing of me. I slam the journal shut. 

“There is a deep, deep anger inside of you, Octavia kom Trikru.” Luna observes casually, as if commenting on the chill of the mist in the air or the absence of the sun. I’m surprised by the boldness of her statement, but I make no reply.

“It’s churning inside your blood like a poison.” She says. “Anger is like a drug. It makes you feel alive. It intoxicates you. And the rush of it is addicting. Some anger, when kept in its place, can be useful, Octavia. But I worry that you allow yours to take control of your faculties... to take control of you. And I fear that if you are not careful, the anger will destroy you.”

She pauses and I wait for the familiar roiling in the pit of my stomach to come at her words. I wait for the heat to spread through my chest. I wait for the blood to pound in my ears. But, for once, I do not feel the anger rising. 

She speaks to me in Trigedasleng and her voice is soft and calm and makes me think of Lincoln’s. And though I do not want to hear her words, I find myself listening.

“After I stabbed my own brother through the throat,” Luna continues. “I was nothing but anger inside. The anger pulsed through my veins. It sank into the marrow of my bones. It burrowed into my very soul. And when I left the conclave moments later, I had no plan, no destination. All I had was the anger. And when I found myself on a bluff overlooking the sea, I was so angry at the world that I stood on its edge and I jumped. And when my head surfaced from the icy waters and I found I was still breathing, I was even angrier. And when two strong arms latched under my own and wrenched me from the waves I was even angrier still. And the man with the strong arms saw the anger in my eyes and he gave me this...”

Luna pauses to reach into an inner pocket of her cloak and when she opens her fist there is a small, delicate seashell resting in her palm. 

“My whole life I had been taught to be angry.” She continues. “Taught that love is weakness. Taught that blood must have blood. But that man told me that anger hollows you out and hardens you and leaves you like a shell of yourself... Hard, but brittle. Easily chipped. Easily broken. And, even when intact, still always, utterly empty.” 

“It took me a long time,” She sighs. “A long, long time to overcome my anger. But looking back now, I realize that Derek didn’t just rescue me from the tumbling waves of the sea that day. He saved my life that day and every day that followed it. Because he taught me how to fight the deadly poison inside of me.”

I cannot help but think of the man I watched Luna kill mere days ago. I can still see her sobbing over his body, as his blood drained from his skin and covered her own, painting it crimson. And I cannot understand how the same woman is sitting so calmly beside me now. I cannot understand how it is that she is not broken like me, empty like me... Angry like me.

But still I hold my tongue. I do not ask her, but she answers anyway, as if I did. “Forgiveness.” She says. “Forgiveness is the only thing more powerful than the anger.”

“Some people do not deserve forgiveness.” I open my mouth for the first time and I am surprised because the words rushed out of me and I never meant to speak them. And I am thinking about Pike and I am thinking about Bellamy. And the anger should be rising inside of me, but still it does not come.

Luna chuckles at my words and drapes a palm around the curve of my shoulder. “Kid... No one ever does.” She says. “But that’s not the point. Figure out who you need to forgive, Octavia. Maybe it’s someone you’ve already killed. Maybe it’s someone you long to kill but cannot. Maybe... It’s Lincoln.”

I’m so taken aback by her words that I raise my eyes to look at her for the first time since she sat down beside me. I expect to see the apology written in her eyes, but her face is completely nonchalant. I should feel the anger rising inside of me. I should want to pry her fingers from my shoulder and break them one by one until they are twisted and gnarled. I should want to make her hurt, make her bleed. But still, the anger is strangely absent.

“But from my own experience...” Luna continues, ignoring my glare. “I suspect the person most in need of your forgiveness is yourself. Figure out how to fight your poison, Octavia.” She says, finally pulling her hand off of me and reaching between us to place her small shell carefully onto the tattered cover of Lincoln’s journal. She rises to her feet. “May the waves rock you gently... Until I find you on the Other Shore.” She says and I know it is her clan’s farewell.

“You’re leaving?” I blurt out as she begins to walk away. “What about...”

“The Coalition has fallen.” Luna answers before I can finish. “There is now no need for a new Commander.”

I struggle to grasp the weight of her words as she turns to walk away again. “So, that’s it?” I call after her, because... At last... I feel the anger rising. “You’re running away again?”

“I don’t run away.” She answers calmly. “I simply know exactly where it is that I belong in this world. Learn to forgive, Octavia... And maybe one day you’ll find your place in this world too.”

 

I do not bother to watch as she and her men mount their horses. I am staring down at the seashell, Luna’s words echoing in my mind. And I can feel the anger rising, because I know that what she said was true. 

I’ve directed all of my anger towards Pike and towards Bellamy. But I watched both of them bleed at my hands and the blood could not quell the anger. Because I am angry at Pike and I am angry at Bellamy. 

And I am angrier at Lincoln. 

Because I asked Lincoln to leave with me and he chose to stay. And I asked Lincoln to let me die with him. And I told him that we fight together. And he stole that choice from me. And I know deep down that Lincoln always made the right choice. And I am angry because always making the right choice is what got him killed.

And I am angry, so angry, at Lincoln. But I know that I am even angrier at myself. Because if he had never met me, never loved me, Lincoln would still be alive right now. Even before he knew my name Lincoln was already prepared to die for me. But I never wanted him to. Because I am not worth dying for. 

Because Lincoln was good... Too good for this world. Too good. Too kind. Too gentle. And he was everything that I long to be. And he is everything that I am not. Because I am a little shit. And Lincoln should be alive. And I should be dead. 

And I reach down and snag Luna’s seashell and I roll it in my palm. And I feel the anger rising. And I know I can never forgive myself. Because I know I do not deserve forgiveness. And I clench the shell in my fist and I rear back my arm. Because I want to bash this shell against the ground. And I want to watch it shatter into pieces. And I want to grind the pieces under my boot until they are nothing but sand scattered in the wind. 

But before I can release it another body plunks down beside me and I lower my arm in surprise. Indra doesn’t say anything. But I think nothing of that. She has always been a quiet person and lately there has been a lot of silence between us. But the silence is comfortable and familiar and safe and I let it linger a long moment before I break it.

“Luna’s gone.” I say and my voice is hollow.

“It doesn’t matter.” She replies. “The Alliance has fallen. The Coalition has disbanded. There is no Coalition to command, now.”

“What happened?” I ask. But I am afraid I already know the answer.

“Azgeda was the first to secede from the Alliance.” She confirms my fears. “Sangedakru and Louwoda Kliron followed. It won’t be long until Azgeda makes a move for Polis and Trikru will not be able to stand on its own, not after Pike’s massacre. The real question is which clans will stand by our side.”

At her words, the anger in me has receded and guilt, cold and thick, washes in to take its place. And I do not welcome it. Because the guilt is so much harder to stomach than the anger ever was. 

“I probably shouldn’t have killed Ronto.” I admit. Because Luna was right about that too... I do let the anger control me. And these words are the closest thing I can manage to an apology. I want forgiveness. I know I do not deserve it.

“Probably not.” Indra agrees. But there is no anger in her voice. No disappointment or condemnation. There is only sadness. “But you did not kill the Alliance, Octavia.” She says with a sigh. “The Coalition died the moment Lexa stopped breathing.”

Silence gathers in the space between us once more and I let it linger. Only now do I realize that I have been absentmindedly worrying the ridges of Luna’s seashell in my fingertips. 

“What do we do now?” I finally ask.

“Now...” Indra answers and I hear the fierceness in the voice of the warrior I admire. “We choose our side and we sharpen our blades and we wait... We wait for the storm.”


	10. Now, and at the Hour of Our Deaths

10  
Now, and at the Hour of Our Deaths

CLARKE

 

“God, I hate this fucking place.” Murphy complained again. He had not stopped complaining since the moment Clarke had met him outside the stables leading their horses by their bits. Murphy had eyed Shadow as if the sweet, gray-black mare were the devil incarnate. But Clarke wasn’t about to waste a whole day walking all the way to Polis just because Murphy had never ridden a horse before and was unabashedly afraid of the “beasts.” Clarke glanced at him as they dismounted on the edge of the city, still surprised she had managed to convince him to climb onto Shadow’s back. Still surprised that the boy was still by her side.

“Tell me again...” He said, shaking his lanky legs out and walking like he had suddenly developed a severe case of hemorrhoids. “Why the hell did I agree to this?”

“Because,” Clarke answered. “Under all that bitter sarcasm and surliness and feigned indifference for the world and everyone in it... Under all your general ass-holery... You actually have a good heart, Murph. Like it or not.”

Murphy let out a disbelieving snort. But the glimmer of a small smile flashed across his long face. “Naw... That’s definitely not the reason. I’m pretty sure it’s because you are so goddamn manipulative that no one can ever say “no” to you. Your skills are almost as good as your mother’s, Griffin.”

“What can I say?” Clarke laughed. “I learned from the best. By the way...” She paused growing serious. “My mom told me what you did for me, with Ontari’s heart and all. She says I owe you my life... Thank you.” She finished with a small, but sincere smile.

Murphy’s eyes barely held hers for a second before he shrugged away awkwardly. “Don’t mention it.” He mumbled and Clarke got the feeling that Murphy had not heard those two words much in his life.

“I mean it...” He said with a sarcastic laugh. “Don’t mention it. Just thinking about it makes me want to blow chunks and Emori’s pancakes taste a lot better going down than coming back up.” He paused, tilting his chin towards the sky. “God, I hate this fucking place.”

Clarke followed his gaze from the treetops to the looming tower jutting into the sky beyond them. Her eyes climbed its heights and lingered on the ever-burning flame at its top. In her mind she saw red smoke billowing against the gray.

“Me too, Murph.” She mumbled. “I fucking hate this place too.”

 

*** 

 

Just in case, they snuck into the city the same way Titus had lead them out only so many days ago. But they quickly realized their sneakiness wasn’t really necessary. The streets of Polis were eerily empty, quiet. Clarke supposed it was an improvement. The last time she had entered this city the streets had been lined with ALIE’s mindless soldiers. The stones beneath her boots had been slick with blood. The air had rung with the moans of the crucified and dying.

Clarke tried not to think about how these streets had once buzzed with the hustle and bustle of life. She tried not to recall the excitement and happiness shining in Lexa’s proud green eyes as she had led her through the throngs of people going about the business of bartering and gossiping and fulfilling the gloriously monotonous duties of daily life. She didn’t want to remember how people would pause as Lexa passed to smile and nod and whisper “Heda” in admiration. Or how laughing children would stop in the middle of chasing each other around their parents’ ankles to stare up at her in awe. 

Ontari’s Polis had been full of death. Lexa’s Polis had been full of life. But the Polis she encountered now was full of neither. It was practically empty. Only a few people wandered its streets here or there on their way to somewhere else. 

“Where the hell is everyone?” Murphy wondered aloud and Clarke let his question fade into the silence because she had no answer. And the quiet around them was so strange. It felt almost as if the city were holding its breath... Waiting for something.

“Come on.” Clarke said, pulling at Murphy’s bony wrist. “Lets get this done.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “So we can get out of this shit-hole.”

 

*** 

 

Clarke blinked in the semi-darkness of the underground room, feeling her pupils widening in the dim candlelight. She reached for a candle, wondering vaguely to herself whose job it was to light all of Polis’s candles every day. She hoped it paid well because it seemed like a hell of a lot of work. 

As her eyes adjusted, the room swam into view around her. The Grounder culture had turned Becca’s science into a type of mysticism bordering on religion. And the room, with its eerie drawings on the wall, almost felt like some kind of church to Clarke. But she found the space more creepy than sacred. She stared up at the drawing of Becca, large, black and hovering over her people with her arms outstretched like a god. 

Murphy sidled up next to Clarke and suddenly dropped to his knees beside her, bowing his head and clasping his hands together.

“Hail Becca, full of shit.” He began in a reverent voice. “Cursed be your name and plentiful be the fruit of thy artificial womb, the Nightbloods. Holy Becca, Mother of the apocalypse, show us where your fucking journal is NOW, before the goddamn hour of all of our deaths. Amen.” He finished, rising to his feet with a sarcastic laugh and turning his back on the drawing. He headed in the direction of Becca’s pod.

“Amen.” Clarke mumbled after him and she could not help but wonder if, somewhere, Becca had heard. 

 

The room was not particularly large, but its edges and corners were cluttered with all kinds of old relics that Clarke supposed held cultural significance for the Grounders, but to her just seemed like a bunch of junk. And after twenty minutes of sneezing and rubbing bits of dust out of her itching eyes, Clarke was starting to worry. Running out of other places to search, she finally made her way over to the giant chest in the corner that she had been avoiding. She took a deep breath, her hands resting on the cold metal for one long moment before prying the lid open. 

Just as she had feared, there it was, sitting at the very top, its folds shimmering red-orange in the flickering light of her candle. Clarke hesitated, her fingers hovering inches from its fabric. She did not want to see it. She did not want to touch it. She did not want to hold it. But she knew the journal might be concealed beneath its folds.

So Clarke sucked in a deep breath and held it. And she pulled the sash from the depths of the chest. And now that she had touched it, she could not stop herself. She ran the fabric through her fingers, let it cascade down her forearms and collect like water in her lap. 

And the rational part of her told her to set the sash aside and keep rummaging through the chest, digging through the remnants of commanders past: armor and weapons, and pieces of themselves. The rational part of herself told her to keep on searching for the journal.

But the rest of her was too distracted to listen. And suddenly she was on her feet, holding the shoulder armor in her hands while the folds of the sash trailed down her legs and over her boots like a curtain. And she wondered how long it would be until the next commander would be chosen and someone would come to retrieve the sash. And she wondered how long it would take them to notice if it was gone. 

And she was not aware of her fingers securing the buckle until the sash was already dangling from her shoulder. And suddenly, disappointment, cold, thick and heavy, flooded her insides. And, ashamed of herself, she realized that she had stupidly dared to hope that the feel of the sash against her side would bring her comfort. That it would somehow be like having Lexa at her side. That the fabric would brush against her skin as lightly as Lexa’s touch.

But the sash felt all wrong on her. The strap was too tight against her chest. The weight of the shoulder armor made her feel off balance. The fabric was too long for her height and dragged against the stone at her feet. And nothing about it felt like Lexa.

 

She could feel the tears welling in her eyes and clawing at the back of her throat as she tore the sash off of her and let it fall to the ground in a heap. 

“It didn’t look THAT bad.” Murphy laughed and Clarke jumped at the sound. She quickly rubbed at the wetness of her eyes, hoping the semi-darkness would hide the red in them. “You looked better in it than Ontari did, anyways.”

“But I agree,” Murphy continued, ignoring the fact that Clarke was ignoring him. “Red is not really your color, Clarke. Clashes with the blue of your eyes. But you know what color goes well with blue?”

Still hiding her face from him, Clarke frowned into the depths of the trunk, wondering what the hell Murphy was rambling on about. When did Murphy, of all people, become a fashion adviser?

“Silver.” Murphy answered for her and Clarke felt the cold of metal bump against her arm. Confused, she finally turned her eyes towards Murphy. He was holding a thick silver briefcase in his hands. 

“Hey, Clarke...” He started with a stupid smirk, already trying to hold back a laugh at the joke he had not yet told. “What does Holy Becca have in common with Octavia’s mom?”

When Clarke just stared, he answered for her. “Both the bitches liked to hide things in the floor.”


	11. Directions

11  
Directions

CLARKE

 

“I knew it!” Raven exclaimed, excitedly turning to Clarke. “Stop fiddling with that before you break it,” she scolded. “And come take a look at this.”

Clarke carefully set the injecting device back into its designated compartment in the padded briefcase, where it glinted silver next to the three vials of black remaining in the row of empty vials. She stepped up behind Raven’s chair and hunched over her shoulder to read from the old, faded journal sprawled open in her lap.

Raven’s finger pointed to a scribble in the middle of the page. “Pyrolusite!” She said, practically leaping out of her chair. “I knew it! She used pyrolusite!”

But Clarke wasn’t listening. Her eyes were busy reading over the sentences just above Raven’s fingers. 

“Day two,” She read aloud. “The vomiting has stopped?! And my vision is slowly returning? I’ve regained mobility in my left arm, though the numbness still remains, traversing the length of my forearm, emanating from the injection site to my fingertips? What?!” Clarke asked.

“There were a few side-effects of the blood.” Raven shrugged. 

“Side-effects?” Murphy blurted out from his position, lying on Raven’s cot with his arm draped over his eyes. He rolled onto his side to glare at Raven. “Side effects are drowsiness and dry-mouth and difficulty getting an erection.” He stated. “Not fucking blindness and paralysis! I’m not injecting some shit you two cooked up in a lab into my blood if the next day I go blind and my dick falls off.”

“Don’t worry.” Raven replied, rolling her eyes. “She addresses the side-effects and makes modifications.” She paused to read another excerpt. “‘I’m attributing the temporary paralysis to trace amounts of barium found in my blood, most likely originating from particles of psilomelane I failed to remove from the pyrolusite during purification. I am optimistic that in future trials these side-effects can be reduced or eliminated by removing all psilomelane contaminants from the pyrolusite ore prior to extracting the manganese...’ See?” Raven paused to look back up at their blank faces. “She figures it out. It’s a lot more likely that your dick will fall off from radiation if you DON’T take the blood, Murphy. But if you’re scared, no one’s going to force you. After all, no one here cares if your dick falls off. We’d probably like you better that way anyway, seeing as the rest of you is such a dick already.”

Clarke knew that there was still bad blood between Murphy and Raven and for a tense second she nervously watched the two of them, preparing to jump between them if things escalated. But Murphy just let out a bark of laughter. Raven’s mouth was as smart-ass as his own, and it seemed he enjoyed having a worthy opponent to banter with.

“Raven, YOU might like me better without a dick.” He laughed. “But Emori likes playing with my pecker even more than I do and her happiness means more to me than yours.” 

“You’re disgusting, Murph.” Clarke said, now rolling her own eyes at him.

“Poor Emori.” Raven commented. “I don’t get it... The girl seems so smart.”

“I don’t get it either.” Murphy admitted, flopping back onto his back and returning his arm to his face. “I know she’s way too good for me. I guess I should just be glad not every girl is as smart as you.”

 

Raven went back to flipping through Becca’s notes as Clarke flopped tiredly down onto the floor in front of her and leaned back against Raven’s shins. Just as Clarke felt her eyelids drooping, Raven’s excited voice caught her attention again.

“Listen to this, Clarke...” She paused to clear her throat before reading. “‘It has been sixteen days since my third and final injection of the Nightserum. Blood tests indicate that mineral levels, including those of iron, selenium, zinc, and manganese, have stablilized... See diagram sixteen C. Moreover, the concentration of diethylenetriamine pentaacetic acid has ceased to decline and appears to be consistently increasing... See diagram sixteen D...’ It only took her three injections before her body kicked into gear and started producing the acid on its own!” Raven explained. “She was targeting the loci of genes EJT3 and ADC19 normally latent in human beings, using high concentrations of zinc to alter gene expression.” She paused to explain, “Zinc is active in reading and translating DNA during protein synthesis...”

Raven was rambling on in her nerdy science speak again, but Clarke was only half listening because one thing Raven had said was replaying over and over again in her mind. Three injections. It had taken Becca three injections to successfully become a Nightblood. And Clarke couldn’t help but think of the three remaining vials tucked away in the briefcase. And it was all she could do to keep herself from getting up, right then and there, loading a vial, and taking a hit. 

But the rational part of herself was telling the rest of her to be patient. Raven might need those vials to run tests or to use as a primer in order to create more. And though she longed for it more than anyone else, Clarke was not the only one in need of Nightserum. So she told herself to be patient and she kept her butt seated beneath her, even when it began to tingle and go numb.

 

***

 

“Clarke...” A voice drifted to Clarke from somewhere far away. She struggled to make sense of it, confused as to why her arm was shaking. “Clarke, wake up.”

Clarke opened her eyes to realize Raven was pulling at her arm. She was lying on the cold floor of Raven’s room. She didn’t remember falling asleep.

“What is it?” She asked, groggily, rubbing the sleep from her burning eyes. “Did you finish reading the journal?”

“Yes.” Raven answered. And Clarke’s stomach dropped at the look of disappointment on Raven’s face. 

“What?” She asked nervously. “What is it?”

“It’s incomplete.” Raven frowned. “She has all of her findings, which are incredible by the way... Revolutionary science... I thought ALIE was impressive, but what’s she’s done with genomics...” she paused at Clarke’s annoyed glare. “Right... Anyway, it’s all of her results and alterations and hypotheses for future improvements, but it’s missing the procedure for creating the original serum. I can probably deduce most of the recipe from the changes she’s made, and by analyzing the little that’s left, but it will be difficult and a lot of guesswork.”

“She didn’t include the original procedure?” Clarke repeated, unable to believe it. “How could she leave that out?”

“Well...” Raven answered. “This journal begins with her already making modifications and improvements on the serum. It practically begins with her first human clinical trial, which she conducted on herself. But there are mentions and comparisons throughout of earlier results, indicating she had already conducted multiple trials on rats during the development of the original serum. This journal appears to be the second...”

“Are you saying...” Both girls jumped at the sound of Murphy’s groan from atop Raven’s cot. They had assumed he was asleep. “There’s ANOTHER fucking journal we have to find?”

“I’m not sure.” Raven replied. “Even if we find the results of her earlier trials, it may not include the original procedure. The way she refers to the original serum, I think it may have been developed by someone else. A colleague maybe. She calls her final product Nightserum. But she mentions making modifications to Bauer’s Serum.”

Murphy propped himself onto an elbow. “Bauer as in CHRIS Bauer?” He asked with a frown.

Raven and Clarke just stared blankly. Murphy flopped back onto the cot, this time throwing both forearms over his face with a long sigh. “Fuck... my... life.”

 

*** 

 

“I spent three godforsaken months in that hell-hole.” Murphy protested. He was now perched on the edge of the cot, hunched with his elbows on his knees and head in his hands. “Longest three months of my damn life. Made me long for my homey cell back on the Ark. At least in lock-up I had assholes like Atom and Mbege to fuck around with. I almost went crazy in that bunker with no one to talk to. Came THIS close to blowing my brains out all over that ugly-ass leather sofa just like Bauer did.”

“Alright.” Clarke compromised. “You don’t have to come with me. I’ll go on my own. Just... Can you tell me how to get there? Draw me a map or something?”

“Oh yeah... Sure.” Murphy’s words dripped with sarcasm. “It’s just over the river and through the woods. Lets see... Directions... You head out the gates and take a right at the sign that says ‘City of Light, 100 fucking miles this way...’” He started, signaling dramatically with his hands. “Then you walk through the forest until the trees turn to sand. Like three days. Then you climb up and down the endless sand dunes for another three to five days, depending on how many times you have to stop for violent sandstorms or violent bandits... Oh... And assuming you don’t get lost in the shifting dunes and waste your time wandering in circles. But don’t worry, once you get to the random mine field sitting in the middle of fucking nowhere, you’re almost out of the dead zone. If you don’t get blown to pieces like Harris did, you take a left at the even more random field of solar panels and keep going straight until you hit water. Once you get across the water, you’re there!” He finished with a cheer, throwing his hands up in mock excitement.

“Oh...” He added as an afterthought. “I should probably warn you as you cross the water to keep your limbs in the boat at all times, as there is a high probability of being eaten alive by the random giant fucking Loch Ness monster. But after that, the bunker’s right on the bank. And the mansion’s just over the hill.” He finished cheerfully.

Clarke frowned at him. As was often the case with Murphy, she had no idea of how much he said was serious and how much was facetious. 

“Right...” She said. “So... Are you going to draw me a map? Or should I go down to lock-up and ask Jaha to do it for me?”

“Did you not hear the part about the mine field?” Murphy asked frowning at her like he thought she was crazy and might start foaming at the mouth any second. “Or the part about the sea monster? Did I mention it swallowed Craig and Richards whole?”

He turned to Raven. “She still wants to go. Did I tell it wrong?”

Raven shrugged. “What can I say? She’s a stubborn woman on a mission... An unstoppable force. It’s Newton’s First Law: a stubborn woman in motion stays in motion. You think a sea monster is going to be able to stop her?”

“Damn right, Raven!” Clarke cheered. Raven was right... She was on a mission. And neither of them even knew the half of it. No man, no mine, no monster was going to stop her.

“Solidarity, sister!” Raven cheered back and extended a hand for a high-five.

Murphy looked from one grinning girl to the other, shaking his head like a tired, grumpy old man surrounded by children. “Alright,” He sighed. “Truth is that is the way to the mansion if you want to follow crazy-ass Jaha’s spiritual pilgrimage. But Emori knows the shortcut and how to get a bigger boat. I’ll get her to take us under one condition...”

“Name it.” Clarke answered excitedly.

“After you find what you need, Raven lets me blow the shit out of that bunker.”

“Uhhh....” Raven said with a laugh. “You know I’m never opposed to blowing shit up, Murphy. But I think, by definition, bunkers are built to withstand explosions. It’s kind of part of their design.”

“OK.” Murphy replied, quickly revising his demands. “I get to set fire to everything in the bunker. And then we blow the shit out of the mansion instead.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Clarke grinned, now extending her raised palm to Murphy. When Murphy ignored it, she turned it to Raven again. Unable to resist, Raven accepted the high-five with her own grin as Murphy just went back to shaking his head at the pair of them.


	12. A Long Ride Ahead

12  
A Long Ride Ahead

OCTAVIA

 

“I’ll just be a minute.” Indra tells me as she leaps off of Cedar’s back. I pretend I don’t notice her stumble as she hits the forest floor. And she pretends she isn’t still hurting from the wounds in her ankles where the nails drove through her flesh. It’s a little game we both like to play. Each of us pretending we have no weaknesses. And each of us pretending we don’t see the other’s weaknesses as clearly as we see our own.

I leap off of Helios’s back as Indra disappears inside the meetinghouse to speak with the other elders of Trikru. I pat his neck lazily and he throws his head side to side and pretends to be annoyed by my affections. Then I lean against his solid side and watch the children chasing each other around the heart of the village. They are laughing and teasing one another, throwing pine cones and pebbles at each other and smiling. They have no idea of the storm that is coming. 

And before I know it, I am thinking of Lincoln again. And I do not want to think of him. I don’t want to. I don’t want to. I don’t want to. But that never stops my mind from wandering to him time and time again. And this time I find myself imagining him as a child laughing and playing and running around in the heart of this village. And I imagine him as a teenager lounging on a log and using a stick to draw pictures of trees and horses and mountains and skies in the mud and only half-listening while Naiko picks random leaves and flowers and rambles on about the names and medicinal uses of each. And I imagine him older now, holding my hand and kissing the top of my head and laughing as we watch our own children chase each other around the heart of this village.

And I sigh and turn my back on the children because it hurts to watch them. And it hurts to be here in this village. Because it hurts to think of Lincoln. And being here, I can think of nothing else. I bury my face against Helios’s neck and run my hands through his rough mane until I can breathe again.  
And when I open my eyes again, I am so surprised to see the little girl beside me that I jump and let out a small shriek. Her light hazel eyes grow wide with fear at my reaction, then drop to the ground at my feet. She looks like she might cry. She looks like she might run away. 

“Hey...” I say softly. “It’s OK. I’m not angry. You just scared me, is all.”

The little girl doesn’t reply. She doesn’t even look at me. She just stares at my boots, awkwardly shuffling the toes of her own shoes in the dirt. I kneel down until our faces are level. She looks like she’s about six or so and she has dark wavy hair with tangles and knots running through it along with the braids. She has olive skin and holes in her jacket and dirt smudged on her face. And she reminds me of someone, but I can’t put my finger on who. 

“I’m Octavia.” I say gently. “What’s your name?”

The girl doesn’t answer. But she slowly raises her gaze to meet mine. Her eyes are timid, full of distrust and longing and... Loneliness. And I wonder what has happened to this child that she already carries so much hurt inside of her. She turns her eyes from my face to look up at Helios. The top of her head barely reaches the end of his nose. And now I can see the hint of excitement and desire in her sad eyes.

“This is Helios.” I tell her. “You can pat him if you like. Go on... he won’t bite.” And I know it’s true because Helios is perfect around everyone else. Lincoln trained him well. And he’s only a little shit to me.

The girl reaches out tentatively and giggles when Helios snorts into her hand and nuzzles into her touch. I watch as she stands onto her tiptoes to stroke his mane and I feel a strange sensation inside of me as I realize I am smiling, genuinely smiling for the first time since... Well... I can’t remember the last time I smiled like this. And it feels so good to smile because it makes me think of Lincoln. And it hurts to smile because it makes me think of Lincoln. 

 

“Do you want to sit on his back?” I ask the girl, and I laugh as her eyes grow even wider at the suggestion. And her eyes are as much a mixture of fear and longing and excitement as they are of gold and mossy green and honey-brown. She still says nothing. But she gives me the slightest of nods and I lift her easily onto the saddle. The girl is smiling too now and her eyes are glinting and the fear and the loneliness are gone.

I hear the creak of a door and turn my head to see Indra moving towards us wearing that expression that I so often see on her: the look that is not fear or worry, but rather acceptance. Because Indra is a warrior and warriors do not worry about things they cannot control. 

And then I hear a loud thud of something slamming onto the forest floor beside me and turn to see the little girl struggling in the dirt and dead leaves at my feet. For a moment I don’t understand how she has fallen.

“Are you OK?” I ask, reaching down to help her up. But she scrambles out of my reach, pushes up onto her feet, and suddenly takes off into the trees around us. And now I understand... She didn’t fall. She jumped. Confused, I watch her as she disappears into the forest.

“Did she say anything to you?” Indra asks, curiously, also staring off into the trees where the forest swallowed the little girl.

“No.” I answer. 

“I don’t think Eevie’s spoken a word to anyone in weeks.” Indra says in a sad voice. “Not since Pike’s massacre. Her mother was one of the warriors slain. Her father died months before that in the attack on your dropship. She has no family now. The people of the village try their best to care for her whenever she shows her face. But no one knows where she is most of the time.” She pauses to turn her gaze on me. “I’m surprised she came up to you at all.” She adds, eyeing me up and down as if searching for what makes me special.

I just shrug. “She wasn’t interested in me.” I say, climbing into my saddle. It is still warm from the girl’s touch. “She was interested in Helios.”

Indra turns her thoughtful gaze back to the spot where Eevie disappeared into the underbrush. 

“Are we ready to head out?” I ask and Indra finally pulls her eyes from the forest. She climbs back into her own saddle. And I pretend not to notice her grimace as she pulls herself up with her wounded wrists. And she pretends not to notice the tears welling in my eyes.

“Yes.” She answers, turning Cedar away from the morning sun, towards the West. “We have a long ride ahead of us.”

I give Helios a little kick in the side and follow Indra away from the heart of the village. And I try to leave my thoughts behind. I try not to think of Lincoln. And I try not to think of those lonely hazel eyes. 

 

*** 

 

“They used to call this area “The Land of a Thousand Lakes.” Indra tells me as we follow the winding trail along the curving bank of yet another lake. Some of the smaller lakes we have passed had water tinged yellow-brown. The most stagnant sections along the shorelines were nearly orange and the fumes emanating from their waters burned like acid in the back of my throat and pulled tears from my eyes. 

But the lake we are skirting now is a beautiful cornflower blue. It glitters in the afternoon sun and it stretches on for miles. If it weren’t for the green-brown blur of the distant shoreline, I could mistake it for an ocean. Boats dot the surface of the lake here and there and I watch fishermen casting out nets and others reeling them in as we pass. No one pays us any mind as they go on carrying out the daily business of living.

I hear splashing and hooting and hollering up the trail ahead and we round a bend to spot a group of teenage boys playing on the shoreline, pushing and shoving each other off the boulders and into the water. I know the water must be ice-cold, but the boys are all shirtless as if it is a sweltering summer afternoon, as if they don’t notice the chilly north wind that bites at my cheeks. Their shoulder blades and biceps and chests are riddled with the markings of their clan: the blue tribal tattoos that curve and flow and cascade along their muscles like water. Each boy’s tattoo pattern is different and each is beautiful. But on their faces every boy has the same, identical silver-gray tattoo of a fishhook curving from the left temple down along the jawline, the sharp barb of the hook cutting into the corner of their lips. 

Two of the boys sit perched on the edge of a boulder overlooking the others. I watch as one rears his fishing pool back and with a graceful arc of his arm expertly casts his line far out across the waters. The other boy eyes Indra and me curiously as we pass, but when I offer him a smile he timidly drops his gaze and fiddles with the tangled fishing line in his hands.

“The Lake Folk are wary of strangers.” Indra says. “And for good reason. Ice Nation has been preying on these villages for decades.”

“Why don’t they fight back?” I ask. I cannot understand how an entire people has allowed another to walk all over it, to take what is not theirs, and destroy what they did not build.

“Not all people are built to be warriors.” Indra shrugs. “That’s the way of the world. Some people are foxes. Some are rabbits. And without the rabbit, the fox would starve.”

“More like wolves and sheep.” I say. “These people are weak.”

“These people live simply, peacefully.” Indra replies. “They’ve decided it is easier to placate the wolf than resist it.”

“They are weak.” I repeat and Indra just shrugs again.

“Rabbits and foxes...” I say thoughtfully. “Wolves and sheep... What are we, Indra?”

Indra answers quickly, as if she has already given this thought. “Bears.” She says simply. “We do not prey upon the weak. We protect our own.”

“Bears...” I repeat, thinking of Lincoln... Fiercely strong, fiercely gentle. “Bears... I like that.”


	13. Water all Around

13  
Water all Around

CLARKE

“Why have you brought them here, Emori?” The man asked, anger and fear darkening his honey-brown eyes. “Don’t you know the dangers of being seen with the Sky People?”

“How did you know we were Skaikru?” Clarke asked, frowning down at her long, black cloak. She was dressed in the clothing Titus had given her, the garb of the old commanders. Murphy was also dressed as a Grounder, looking all the world like the fleimkepa he had once masqueraded as. 

The man rolled his eyes. “Your arrogant walk, your posture, the way you hold your chin out as you speak, your stench...” He paused, eyeing Murphy. 

Murphy furrowed his brows in confusion, lifting one arm to sniff at its pit. 

“Your unmarked skin, your speech...” The man continued. “Take your pick.”

“But I was speaking Trigedasleng,” Clarke argued.

“Yes,” the man answered. “And with all the skill of a toddler.”

“We need a boat.” Emori answered, cutting between them. “Just for the day. I know you can hook us up, Gedeon.”

“We’re on the brink of war...” Gedeon replied, not acknowledging Emori’s request. “And you dare bring Sky People here?”

“What are you talking about?” Clarke asked. “Why is it dangerous to be seen with Skaikru? Skaikru is part of the Coalition. As members of the Alliance, we have rights, same as you. There is no ordinance against us being here. And what do you mean, the brink of war?”

“Have you had your head up in the clouds, Sky Girl?” Gedeon replied. “The Coalition fell two days ago. The Alliance of the Clans will no longer protect Skaikru. Azgeda means to eliminate Skaikru and any clan foolish enough to stand by its side. Anyone who offers aid, protection, or safe harbor to a Sky Person will be counted an enemy of Azgeda.”

“What are you talking about?” Clarke asked again, struggling to comprehend the enormity of the news. “King Roan...”

“King Roan?” Gedeon interrupted. “Roan is dead. His brother is king now.”

“Arlen?” Emori cut in, worry in her voice.

Clarke looked at her for explanation. 

“Arlen is Queen Nia’s second born son, but he was always her favorite, her pick for the throne. He is as cruel, relentless, and power-hungry as his mother had been. If he marches on Arkadia, Gedeon is right... He won’t stop until Skaikru is entirely eliminated.”

“Fuck that.” Murphy cut in. “Clarke, we have to go back. We have to warn everyone.”

Clarke bit her lip nervously, thinking. “How much time do we have?” She asked Gedeon.

“Who is to say?” He replied. “A week? Two weeks? Maybe three? He is readying his forces as we speak. He is issuing threats and threshing the allies from the enemies. He will march on Polis first. He will destroy what is left of Trikru... which is not much, thanks to your people. He will take the Commander’s throne as his own. Then he will turn his cold gaze towards Skaikru. And Skaikru will burn.”

“How do you know all of this?” Clarke asked, warily. “How can I know that your information is correct?”

“I work on a dock, Sky Girl.” Gedeon answered. “I interact with travelers all day long. And news always travels fastest by water.”

“We need to go back, Clarke.” Murphy repeated.

Clarke set her jaw and fixed her eyes on Gedeon’s. “We need a boat.”

“Have you heard a word I said, Sky Girl?” Gedeon asked. “Only a fool would offer any assistance to Skaikru right now. I shouldn’t even be speaking with you.”

“Clarke,” Murphy started, pulling at her arm.

Clarke ignored him, wriggling free of his grip. “We’ve already come this far, Murphy. We get what we need and then we go back to warn everyone. If we turn back now, we’re all dead anyway.” She turned back to Gedeon. “We need a boat. We’re prepared to compensate you for it.”

She reached into the pocket of her cloak and pulled out the long golden chain Emori had offered her earlier, explaining that Gedeon had a weakness for shiny things. Clarke had felt guilty taking it from her, but she had just shrugged and said, “It’s not mine, really. I got it off a dead man.”

Gedeon was still sneering at her, but Clarke could see the hunger in his honey-brown eyes, which themselves were flecked here and there with gold as if reflecting the jewelry. 

“We’ll have it back by evening. No one has to know.” Clarke said, dangling the necklace before her.

After a long moment Gedeon finally snatched the chain from her fingers and handed a key to Emori. Take Flightless Bird... Graunpeka, end of left dock. Bring her back under cover of darkness. If anyone asks, you took her without asking, understood?” Emori accepted the key as Clarke nodded at Gedeon. 

“For now,” the man continued. “Put your hoods up. Keep your mouths shut. And try not to walk like you just fell out of the damn sky.”

 

***

 

Clarke shook her head. “No. There is no way Arkadia can stand against Ice Nation. Gedeon’s right... They’ll eliminate us. I only caught a glimpse of their army, Murphy and it was huge. And who knows how many allies they have added to their number, now that the Alliance has split?”

“Azgeda is the largest of the clans.” Emori spoke as she guided the old, beat-up fishing trawler across the waters. Half an hour ago the wide river had spit them out onto a massive lake, so vast it could be easily mistaken for a sea. They had been hugging the shoreline, but Emori now pointed the bow towards open water.

“They have the largest land mass and one of the highest populations.” Emori continued. “And they put so much emphasis on military might that nearly every adult trains in combat. Even the craftsmen and builders and tradesmen are all skilled in the art of war. Because a large portion of their land is frozen for the majority of the year, they don’t exactly do a lot of farming up there. So for decades, before they finally joined the Alliance, Ice Nation would gather food and supplies by sending out raiding parties to pillage and plunder other clans. Trikru, Podakru, and Boudalan had it the worst because of their shared borders with Azgeda. But sometimes Azgeda would send parties down river to Delfikru or even along the coastline to Ouskejonkru. Most of the clans were against allowing Azgeda into the Alliance. But Commander Lexa let them join with the agreement that the raids would end in exchange for established friendly trade with the other clans.”

“So are Boudalan and Podakru allies with Trikru since they were the most heavily preyed upon?” Clarke asked. “Would they offer us aid or take in refugees?”

“No.” Emori answered. “Trikru was the only clan of the three who ever put up a fight against the raids. Rock Line gave in to Azgeda’s pressure long ago and now they’re practically just an extension of them. They are separate clans by name, but no doubt if war breaks out, Boudalan will march alongside Azgeda. The Lake People, on the other hand, are timid, peaceful people... Fishermen and boaters. They weave nets and baskets and clean fish and build boats and when Ice Nation comes into their villages they give them what they ask for and beg for their lives to be spared. They can’t defend themselves, let alone help anyone else.”

“What about the other two you said?” Murphy asked. “Delly and Ooskeejohn?”

“Delfikru and Ouskejonkru.” Emori corrected him.

“Is that not what I said?” Murphy laughed.

“Delphi Crew and Blue Cliff Clan usually prefer to stay neutral and avoid conflicts that don’t directly involve them. If forced to choose sides... I don’t know... They could go either way. But I wouldn’t count on either of them to come along and save the day.”

“Is there anyone we CAN count on for help?” Clarke asked with a sigh of exasperation.

“Trikru’s closest allies have always been Floudonkru...” Emori started, but Clarke cut her off.

“Luna won’t help us.” Clarke interrupted. “She’s a trained warrior, but she still thinks she’s a damn pacifist. They won’t fight beside us.”

“Even if they won’t fight, maybe they’ll be willing to take people in?” Murphy suggested.

“I doubt it.” Clarke answered. “I don’t think she’d be willing to put the safety of her people at risk. Even if she agreed to it... There’s not enough room on her rig for all of us, let alone all of Trikru. No... We can’t count on Luna and the Boat People.” She told Murphy.

“But I cut you off...” She said to Emori. “Who else might ally with Trikru?”

“Besides Floudonkru,” Emori answered. “Trikru has always found allies in Ingrarona and Trishana, the Plains Riders and the Glowing Forest. They MIGHT stand with Trikru.” She put a whole lot of emphasis on the ‘might’ and Clarke could tell she doubted the word even as she spoke it. “But as far as allying with Skaikru...”

“We have no allies.” Clarke finished for her.

“Arkadia’s about as good at making friends as I am, huh?” Murphy said with a dry chuckle. 

Clarke knew he was right. Arkadia was the John Murphy of the thirteen clans. Their only real ally had been Trikru, and what had they done? Massacred an army sent to protect them. Declared war on their only ally and left it as crippled and vulnerable as Murphy had once left Raven. Clarke had trusted her people and Lexa had trusted Clarke and Trikru had trusted Lexa. And now Lexa was gone and Trikru was crippled and Clarke was out of ideas and her people were screwed. And it was all their own fault. They had shot themselves in the foot and now they were bleeding all over the ground and there was no one left to help clean up the mess.

“So... If we can’t hold them off in Arkadia and there’s nowhere to run...” Murphy was looking at Clarke for answers and Clarke had none to offer. “What do we...”

Murphy never finished the question. The “pop, pop, pop,” of gunfire exploded in the air around them. The “pops” were punctuated by shouts and hollers, and under it all, the rumble of an engine. The three of them ducked onto their hands and feet, crouching and desperately covering their heads as bullets pinged off the metal sides of the old trawler.

“What the fuck?!” Murphy called out as Clarke scrambled on her belly across the boat’s deck to its edge to try to catch a glimpse of their attackers. A small speed boat was circling the trawler, carrying five Grounders. Grounders... With guns.

“Pirates!” Emori shouted over the cacophony of gunfire and bullets ricocheting off of metal, revving engine and hollering and laughing.

“What do we do?” Clarke shouted back. No one answered. But the answer was obvious. There was nothing they could do. The trawler was slow and old and heavy, and though Emori threw herself against the throttle, even at full speed it was mere seconds before the men in the boat had captured it. They threw roped hooks onto the trawler’s deck, tethering the two boats together. Clarke frantically tried to reach the nearest hook and throw it back overboard, but the bullets rained down around her, pinging off the deck mere inches from her. She was pinned. They all were. There was nothing she could do. There was nothing any of them could do. 

Clarke knew that Murphy had a pistol concealed in his cloak. But each of the men now climbing their way up the ropes and onto the trawler was armed with a semi-automatic rifle. All Clarke had on her was a long knife sheathed at her hip, beneath the folds of her cloak.

“I thought Grounders didn’t carry guns.” Clarke heard Murphy grumble from his hiding spot in the Trawler’s wheelhouse beside Emori.

“Pirates do whatever the hell they want.” Emori replied. “Don’t resist them. They will not hesitate to kill us.”

The men leapt aboard, still hooting and hollering. A thick man with braids in his long tangled hair and unkempt beard pointed his rifle towards the sky and let out five quick rounds that echoed through the air. 

“Who’s the captain of this vessel?” He called out in Trigedasleng with a laugh. “Come out, come out. We just want to talk. No need for anyone to get hurt. We just want all of your weapons and all of your valuables. Cooperate and we might let you keep your lives.”

“We have no valuables.” Clarke called out, slowly rising to her feet with her arms held high. “You waste your time here, pirate.”

The man let out a burst of cold laughter. “The girl wants to play!” He said excitedly to his guffawing comrades. “Usually people just cower and give us everything we ask for.” He said, turning his ugly marked face to Clarke. Black lines criss-crossed his face and it was hard to tell the scars from the tattoos. “It’s so much more fun when they decide to play. Much more sporting when our victims have some fight in them.” He smiled, then his tone became serious and threatening. “How many on board, girl?”

Clarke made no reply.

“No valuables, eh?” The man spoke over her silence. “Then you won’t mind if we take a look around. Go on... Boys.”

The man’s companions dispersed, two headed below deck, two headed towards the wheelhouse where Clarke knew Murphy and Emori still crouched. The bearded man remained glaring at Clarke, his rifle pointed at the fleshy spot above her navel.

“Found two more rats hiding up here, Cap’n” A man’s voice called from the wheelhouse. 

“Bring them here.” The captain replied. 

“Get your filthy hands off of her!” Clarke heard Murphy grunting as he struggled against them. “Don’t fucking touch her.”

The men herded Emori and Murphy onto the deck beside Clarke, prodding them forward with the tips of their rifles jabbing into the smalls of their backs. One of them kicked at the back of Murphy’s knees and he fell onto his hands and knees before the captain.

“Welcome to the party.” The captain laughed. 

“What do you want from us?” Emori growled brazenly. “We have nothing.”

“Another fighter.” The captain laughed again. “Nothing, eh? We’ll see about that. Search them boys.” He commanded. “Start with this one.” He added, eyeing Emori with a hungry glint in his dark eyes. “Make it... Thorough.”

“Don’t fucking touch her!” Murphy called out again as one man stepped behind Emori, securing her wrists as the other ripped at the buttons of her cloak. “Hurt her and I will kill you.” Murphy snarled at the captain. 

The captain took his gun off of Clarke and pointed its tip against Murphy’s forehead. Murphy glared defiantly up at him. “You’re in no position to issue threats, boy.” The captain growled. 

Clarke’s heart pounded wildly against the cage of her chest. She could feel the adrenaline pulsing through her veins, making her fingertips tremble. The men tore Emori’s coat from her shoulders, rummaged through its pockets, and tossed it aside. Clarke watched as one man pulled a knife from his hip and cut through Emori’s leather belt as Murphy looked on helplessly. The man began to pull at the front of her pants. 

Clarke knew that when they were finished having their way with Emori, the men would turn to her. They would find the flame. And she could not let that happen. She had to act.

“There’s nothing down here but nasty fishing gear Cap’n.” A voice called from below deck. Clarke could hear the men rummaging through the room underneath them. Soon they would climb back up the stairs and the three men holding her at gunpoint would become five. She had to act now.

“Stop!” She cried, in mock desperation. “Stop! Leave her alone! I’ll give you what you want!”

The captain’s gun remained trained on Murphy, but his hungry dark eyes turned back to Clarke. She took a bold step towards him, reaching into the folds of her cloak. “I’ll give you everything we have... Just don’t hurt them, please!”

She took another step forward, stopping within an arm’s length of the captain. She had his full attention now. The tip of his gun drifted from Murphy’s forehead to chest. Murphy’s wide eyes met Clarke’s and she could only hope he would be quick on the uptake. 

“Here.” Clarke said in a defeated voice and the blood rushed her head as she pulled the knife from her hip and drove it into the side of the captain’s neck. Murphy shoved the point of the man’s gun to the side as a shot rang through the air. He wrenched it from the captain’s hands as the blood erupted from the man’s neck, spraying Clarke across the face.

Clarke blinked against the blood burning her eyes as more shots rang out around her. But before she could make sense of the world, she felt the weight of the thick captain slam into her and suddenly she was stumbling backwards blindly. She hit the edge of the deck and her boots slipped on slick water and slicker blood and all of the sudden she was tumbling through nothingness.

 

The cold slap of the water stung her cheek as she plunged through its surface. The weight of the captain fell on top of her, dragging her into the water’s depths and Clarke could think of nothing. Nothing but the cold all around her and the hot panic inside her, burning like a fire in her lungs. She kicked and wriggled and writhed against the weight of the captain. But he had a hold of her and was pulling her under and she could not breathe. She could not breathe. She could not breathe.

Red swirled all around her, water and blood mingling. And her hands groped for the air but there was only more water above her and water below her and water all around her. There was only water. And she could not fight it any longer. Her lungs were on fire and the flames were consuming her and there was only one way to put the flames out. So she opened her mouth and let the water rush inside.

And the water filled her lungs. But the fire still burned. She tried to cough but there was no air. And she tried to breathe but there was no air. And she tried to scream but there was no air. There was only the water.

The blackness was flooding her eyes and a small voice echoed through her clouded mind. “Do not be afraid, Clarke... Death is not the end.” And Clarke tried to be brave. She tried to believe Lexa’s words as the end rushed upon her. And she was being pulled. Pulled through the water. And the arms wrapped around her like the arms of Death.


	14. Karma

14  
Karma

CLARKE

The water erupted from Clarke’s lungs and the pain rushed in to replace it. She turned onto her side, coughing and sputtering and struggling to suck in the air as the water spilled from her like vomit.

“Breathe, Clarke. Breathe.” Someone was telling her as if she needed to be told. As if that wasn’t the single goal of her entire existence. 

Her body wracked with the coughing and she sucked in a glorious breath. And her lungs were still burning. And her chest throbbed. And her brain throbbed. But the air was all around her and she gulped it in hungrily.

Slowly the world came into focus around her. Emori was kneeling over her, her face a combination of sheer relief and utter panic. Her ripped clothes clung sopping wet to her skin and the water dripped from her hair onto Clarke’s face and Clarke suddenly realized that the arms that had wrapped around her must have belonged to Emori.

“Thank you.” Clarke choked out of her burning, raw throat.

“Thank me later.” Emori replied. “John needs you.”

She pulled Clarke up and helped her to her shaky feet. She wobbled as the darkness swam before her eyes again, but Emori held her steady. Still bodies and puddles of red littered the boat deck and Clarke tried not to look at the mess as they hobbled across it. There, in the center of a red puddle, was Murphy. His breathing was shallow, rapid, and irregular and his face was steadily turning white as the blood drained from his body. He was laying propped on his elbows, the blood oozing from a bullet wound in his upper thigh. 

Immediately Clarke’s cloudy mind cleared and she forgot the pain of her own body as she snapped into motion. She snagged Emori’s ruined coat from the floor of the deck and ripped it into long strips, wrapping them around Murphy’s thigh like a tourniquet. 

“Watch the hands, Griffin. I’m a hitched man.” Murphy tried to joke, his face growing paler with the effort. 

“Shut up, Murph.” Clarke scolded him. “I know you hear that a lot, but this time I mean it... No talking.”

“We have to get him to my mother quickly.” She told Emori. “Help me get him into their speedboat.” 

Getting Murphy down the ropes and into the pirates’ boat was almost an impossible feat and by the time they managed it Clarke was feeling weak and dizzy again. But it was nothing compared to the state Murphy was in. His entire body was trembling. His face was now fully blanched and, despite the chill of the air, was covered in a sheen of sweat.

Clarke looked back at the trawler longingly as Emori gave Murphy’s shoulder a squeeze and climbed into the driver’s seat. It wasn’t too late. Clarke could climb back onto the trawler. Emori could take Murphy and Clarke could press on to the mansion on her own. They were nearly there. She was close. She was so, so close.

“Clarke...” Murphy mumbled weakly. “Clarke.”

Clarke turned toward Murphy. His breathing was still rapid and shallow. He was shaking more than ever. And then he wasn’t shaking... He was convulsing. His eyes were rolling. He was going into shock.

Clarke thought of Murphy holding Ontari’s barely beating heart and Clarke’s life in his hands. Clarke thought of Emori’s arms pulling her from the cold darkness. 

“I’m here.” She whispered to Murphy as the speedboat’s engine rumbled to life and Emori turned them away from the mansion, the journal, the blood, and Lexa, and they rocketed across the waters in the direction from which they had come.

 

***

 

Clarke felt weak and woozy and her head was pounding again. She couldn’t be here anymore. Without bothering to excuse herself, she pushed back her chair and turned away from the table. Bellamy and Kane were busy arguing over Arkadia’s best chances of survival, weighing the (few) pros and (seemingly infinite) cons of fleeing or fighting, and Clarke knew they would not even notice her absence. So she made her way to the infirmary to check on Murphy. 

“You’re mom says he almost died.” Emori told her as Clarke sidled up to Murphy’s cot. “Without your tourniquet to slow the bleeding, he would have. But she says he’s going to be OK.”

“Of course I am.” Murphy said weakly. “Do you know how many times I’ve almost died? How many Grounders have tried to kill me? Hell... How many Sky Crew have tried to kill me? This is nothing. Just a scratch. I’ve survived way worse. It’s going to take more than five bastard pirate Grounders playing with guns to take me out.” He coughed.

“I told you not to talk, Murph.” Clarke scolded with her own small laugh. “If anything is finally going to be the death of you, it’s going to be your own damn mouth.”

“Thank you for saving his life.” Emori spoke over Murphy as the laughter threw him into another coughing fit. 

Clarke shrugged. “Thank YOU for saving MINE. I don’t know how to swim. A minute longer and I would’ve drowned completely.”

“Maybe someday I’ll teach you.” Emori replied with a small smile. “Teach you to swim.”

Clarke forced herself to return the small smile but she could find no words. Again she felt woozy. Again she felt weak. Her lungs still burned with every breath she took and her chest throbbed where Emori had pounded against it to revive her. But worse that anything else was the familiar pain in the pit of her stomach. No, the place deeper than the pit of her stomach. The place that was more soul than flesh. The place of longing.

Because Lexa had promised to be the one to teach her. And now Lexa was gone. And as badly as Clarke wanted to learn, she knew she could never bear to let anyone else teach her.

 

A soft arm wrapped around Clarke’s waist and Abby broke the silence. “Hey, Clarke. How are you feeling, Hun? You look nearly as bad as John.”

“I’m fine.” Clarke answered, trying to sound convincing. 

“Emori says you almost drowned. How do your lungs feel?” Abby asked. 

“They hurt like hell.” Clarke admitted. “But only every time I breathe.” She added with a forced laugh that only made the flames burn hotter.

“Maybe you should spend the night here so I can monitor you too.” Abby suggested, the worry creasing her forehead. 

“No, no, no...” Clarke said quickly. Perhaps a bit TOO quickly. Clarke couldn’t spend the night here. She had other plans for the night. But Abby didn’t know that. And it had to stay that way. “I’m fine.” She repeated, earnestly. “Really, it’s not that bad. I’m just a little tired.” She said with yet another forced smile. 

Clarke thought she had mastered the fake smile by now. But Abby was still not convinced. She was still assessing Clarke with that half-mother, half-doctor frown that she only ever reserved for Clarke and Raven. 

“I’m fine, Mom.” Clarke repeated. “Really. I only came here to check on Murphy. How bad is he?” She asked, trying to draw her mother’s attention off of her.

It worked. The motherly concern on Abby’s face receded as she switched back into full doctor mode. 

“John will be fine... With time.” She answered. “Luckily the bullet just missed severing his femoral artery. Still, it caused significant damage to the rectus femoris and the adductors running beneath it before lodging into the femur itself. It’s going to be a while before he’s on his feet again. And even longer before he’ll be able to run or even walk properly.” She paused. “There’s going to be a lot of real fun physical therapy in our futures, John.”

“Goody.” Murphy mumbled. “Can’t wait. Sounds like a blast. Maybe, if I’m lucky, Ice Nation will put me out of my misery before that.”

Everyone ignored the last comment. No one spoke about the complete uncertainty of the future. It was easier that way.

“You’re going to have to wear a brace.” Abby told Murphy. “But with time and hard work, hopefully we can get you out of it.”

“Great.” Murphy replied. “Maybe Raven will let me borrow hers. I swear... The universe has to be a woman, because she holds a grudge like no other.”

“Yeah.” Clarke agreed. “Karma is a real bitch.”


	15. Confession

15  
Confession

CLARKE

When Arkadia finally grew silent around her and Clarke was sure the last of the night’s stragglers had wandered to their cots, Clarke rolled off of her own cot and snagged her sack. Her lungs ached so badly that she wouldn’t have been able to sleep anyways, and she had better things to do than lay on her cot, struggling to breathe and watching the shadows play on the ceiling.

She creaked her door open quietly and snuck quickly down the hall towards the garage. The keys were still in the ignition and Clarke climbed into the Rover feeling uneasy. Because things were going smoothly, easily. And nothing ever went smoothly for her.

She turned the engine over and passed through the open gates of Arkadia, waving a lazy thank you to Cooper as she passed. Hours ago she had talked the young guard into helping her sneak out. It had been far too easy. She’d put on her tightest blue blouse, strategically undone the top few buttons, and leaned forward as she sat across from the boy. He hadn’t even asked her why she needed to take the rover out on her own in the middle of the night. He had just nodded, swallowing hard, staring at her chest the whole time. She had rolled her eyes as she walked away. Boys were so easy to manipulate.

 

Clarke didn’t have much experience driving the rover, let alone driving in the darkness of night, and she was half-surprised she managed to make it to the edge of the forest without completely crashing it. She knew she had put a few new dents in the fenders, a few new scratches in the paint. But she hadn’t thrown herself through the windshield, so she counted it a success as she killed the engine.

She made the short walk along the river’s shore, following the small yellow circle of light emanating from her flashlight, and found the speedboat tied exactly where she and Emori had left it. Except... They had left it empty.

“Get out of my boat, stranger.” Clarke commanded, pointing her pistol at the spot between the man’s shoulder blades. He was hunched over, fiddling with the wires protruding from a loosened panel beneath the boat’s steering wheel, clearly trying to hotwire it. He swiveled his head towards her, but the fear and surprise on his face quickly gave way to a smile.

“Or...” Clarke froze as a voice spoke directly behind her and the cold steel of a blade pressed against her Adam’s apple. “You could hand over the keys to OUR boat, girlie.”

Fear and plain annoyance warred within Clarke. She had already had her life threatened by one asshole today. She was tired of this shit.

“Don’t make me kill your friend.” She spoke to the man behind her.

“Don’t make me kill you.” The man replied. “Lower your gun.”

Clarke’s options were racing each other through her mind, but before she could select one, she heard the familiar click of a bullet being chambered and another voice spoke.

“Lower your blade.” Bellamy’s voice commanded.

Clarke felt the bite of the blade against her throat as a shot rang out behind her. The blade against her neck fell to her feet as the man’s body crumpled behind her. Another shot rang through the night and Clarke watched the man in the boat collapse over the steering wheel, twitching for one long moment and then growing still. 

A trickle of blood dripped down her neck and along her collar bone. The gash stung, but it wasn’t deep. Clarke wiped the blood away as she turned to face Bellamy.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, surprised at the anger in her voice.

“Ummmm.... Saving your life.” Bellamy replied defensively, as if it were obvious. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Why are you always shooting people?” She spat at him.

“He had a dagger to your throat, Clarke.” Bellamy spat back.

“I had everything under control.” 

“That’s not what it looked like from where I’m standing.” 

“Why the hell are you even standing there, Bellamy? What are you doing here?” Clarke repeated. “Wait... Let me guess... You were just TRACKING me again?”

“Cooper was acting weird during shift exchange tonight.” Bellamy answered. “Wasn’t very hard getting the information out of that idiot. I hid in the back of the rover. Thought about taking the wheel from you before you sent us rolling down an embankment, but I wanted to see where you were taking us. So... What the hell are YOU doing here? Where are we going?”

“WE aren’t going anywhere, Bellamy.” Clarke replied, stomping onto the boat and heaving the dead man’s limp body over the side of it with a grunt.

“What?” Bellamy said sarcastically. “You think I’m just going to sit here, babysit the rover, and watch while you go off riding into the night in a fucking speedboat? By yourself? Do you know me at all, Clarke?” He asked, following her onto the boat.

“I know you a little too well, Bell.” Clarke replied. “Now, get off my boat.”

“No.” Bellamy answered, flatly.

Clarke set her jaw and fixed Bellamy with her fiercest glare. “Get off my boat, Bellamy.” She growled again.

“No.” He refused again, flopping casually onto the backseat, not even bothering to wipe Murphy’s crusty dried blood from it. “Wherever it is you are going, I’m coming with you. You can’t stop me. Might as well stop arguing and fill me in on what it is you’re doing.”

Clarke fought back the anger within her. They were wasting time. “Fine.” She finally huffed as she climbed behind the wheel, trying to ignore the slick blood smeared across it. “Untie us.”

“Tell me what you’re doing.” Bellamy asked again as he pulled the rope loose from the boat. 

“I’m doing what I’m always doing, Bellamy.” Clarke replied irritably. “I’m saving the goddamn world.”

 

*** 

 

“Look...” Bell finally said after a half hour of silence between them passed as they sped down the black river and onto the even blacker lake. “We need to talk.”

“No we don’t.” Clarke dismissed him, flatly.

“Yes, we do, Clarke.” Bellamy insisted, moving up without an invitation to the passenger seat beside her. He pivoted in the seat to face her. She avoided his eyes, keeping her own fixed firmly on the dark waters stretching before them.

“Well...” Bellamy said. “At least I need to talk. It’s better anyways if you just listen.”

Clarke didn’t reply, but it seemed he wasn’t expecting her to. 

“I know you’ve been avoiding me, Clarke.” He began. “But I have some things I have to tell you... Some things I have to get off my chest. First... I’m sorry about the other day, OK? It was stupid of me to... Well... It was just stupid. And I’m sorry about what I said about Lexa. I didn’t know...” He paused awkwardly. Still Clarke pretended to ignore him. 

“I just...” He continued. “I didn’t know. And I know you told me that you’re not ready, but I need to tell you that I am. I am ready...” 

“Bellamy...” Clarke began with a sigh of exasperation.

“Clarke...” Bellamy quickly cut her off. “I told you to LISTEN. For once just LISTEN. Let me finish. What I was TRYING to say is that I’m ready... I’m finally ready... To be friends with you. Just friends.”

Taken aback, Clarke turned her eyes to Bellamy for the first time since he started speaking. He was staring at her with a nervous intensity, a fearful resolve. 

“The truth is,” He continued. “I’ve felt something for you from the beginning of this whole damn mess. From the moment we stepped off the dropship and you immediately started trying to boss us all around and I realized you might be the only girl I’d ever met who was more stubborn than my sister.”

Clarke bit her tongue, listening. She had thought that Bellamy had hated her back then. She even remembered thinking that he might kill her if he got the chance. This was all news to her and she didn’t know how to respond. But it didn’t matter because the words were still pouring out of Bellamy like a long overdue confession and she wouldn’t have been able to get a word in if she tried. 

“And I felt it from the very beginning.” Bellamy continued. “Since the first time you told me to go float myself. But I didn’t know what to do about it. I’d never been drawn to a girl that way before. You weren’t just some hot girl I wanted to see naked. You were smart and strong and sexy and... Like I said... Stubborn. And I didn’t know what to do with you.”

“So, naturally, I did the mature thing and I treated you like a complete ass. And when I finally realized I was being an idiot, you were already falling for Finn and I was too damn late. And I was jealous of him. And then he died, and I know it sounds messed up to say this, but I was even more jealous of him, because there was no way I could compete with him after that. And I figured you would never be interested in me. But then Mt. Weather happened and I thought... I thought maybe it wasn’t so crazy after all. That maybe you could have feelings for me.”

“But then you left. And I was confused. And I was angry. And then I heard you were being hunted and I was desperate to save you. And I thought I was coming to rescue you from the Grounders and you CHOSE to stay. I asked you to come back with me. I almost begged you. And you chose them... the Grounders... Lexa. And I was even more confused. And I was even more angry. 

And I told myself I was angry about Gina. And I was. But I was even angrier about you. And the anger just made me stupider. And I hated the Grounders. Because my sister chose them over me. And you chose them over me. And I followed Pike. And Octavia’s right... I ruined everything. I ruined everything between me and her. I ruined everything between me and you. I ruined everything. And I don’t know how to make things right again. Not with her and not with you. 

I tried to control Octavia. I never listened to her. I wasn’t a good brother. And I never listened to you either. I wasn’t a good friend. But I’m ready now. I’m ready to listen. I’m ready to be a good friend. Just a friend.” He finally finished with a deep, nervous breath. “That is... If you... WANT a friend...” 

Clarke turned her eyes to Bellamy. He looked so insecure and vulnerable, even more exposed than he had been standing buck-naked before her in the river only days ago. She didn’t want him any more now than she had at that moment. But his eyes held a sincerity that made her wonder if maybe he was starting, just a little, to understand. 

“I can always use a good friend, Bellamy.” She said. And she meant it.

He gave her a sheepish smile and sat back in his chair looking exhausted, but relieved, like he had just lifted a huge weight off of his shoulders.

“So...” He said after a moment. “Where are we going?”


	16. Raven's Heaven

16  
Raven’s Heaven

CLARKE

“This place is fucking huge.” Bellamy sighed as they followed the mansion’s mossy front walkway through knee-high weeds and rotting dead grass. Even the mansion’s front door was obscenely huge, towering over them with ostentatious designs carved into the thick wood. “It’s about as big as Arkadia. How the hell are we going to find ANYTHING in here?” Bellamy asked, raising his rifle and rearing back, preparing to smash the butt of it against the door’s lock.

Clarke held out a hand to stop him. She reached out and gave the doorknob a twist and the heavy door creaked open. “Rule number one, Bellamy, if you’re going to tag along.... Think positive.” Clarke said. “No goddamn debbie-downers allowed.”

“Think positive.” Bellamy repeated with a dry laugh, following her into the dark shadows of the mansion. “Right... Got it. Maybe if I think positively enough the electricity will start up.” He said sarcastically.

Ignoring him, Clarke groped along the wall for a switch and the room burst into view before them.

“You’re kidding.” Bellamy laughed, blinking against the sudden brightness.

“The power of positive thoughts.” Clarke smirked. “And, you know... Back up generators.” 

She surveyed the gigantic, gleaming entryway. Multiple hallways branched off from it. There were stairs leading up. There were stairs leading down. Bellamy was right... This place was fucking huge.

“Where do we start?” Bellamy asked and Clarke wished she could give a definitive answer.

“I guess we go floor by floor?” She suggested. “Let’s start at the bottom and just work our way up. Come on...” She led the way down the nearest staircase. 

 

All Clarke knew about Chris Bauer was that he was one of the scientists who helped create ALIE and that he had lived here and that was more than enough information for her to deduce that the man was probably a complete douchebag.

They emerged from the staircase to find themselves on the edge of a full-sized basketball court, the polished wooden surface still gleaming under a thin layer of dust. On the opposite side of the court there were two bowling lanes, a fully stocked bar, a carpeted area with two pool tables, a poker table, and an assortment of old arcade games, a gigantic empty swimming pool and hot tub, and a small storefront that said Starbucks over a logo of a green mermaid.

“Wow!” Bellamy exclaimed. “This guy had way too much money for his own good. But he sure knew how to spend it.” He bent over to snag a basketball off the abandoned court and take a shot. Clarke watched the ball arc through the air, falling short of the basket by a good three feet, not even grazing the net. 

“Come on...” She said, tugging Bellamy’s wrist back towards the stairs. “I don’t think what we are looking for is going to be down here in this ridiculous man-cave.” 

Bellamy gave the room one long look of longing before following her up the stairs. They wandered the next floor, passing through an industrial-sized kitchen, a dining room large enough to have hosted the president and his entire cabinet, five fully furnished guestrooms, a theater room with a TV so big it made Raven’s and Monty’s computer setup look childish, and too many bathrooms to count. Each bathroom had its own magazine rack fully stocked with car magazines and porn. Yep... Clarke thought to herself... Definitely a total douchebag.

The third floor started out as more of the same and Clarke was starting to despair when they rounded a corner and the hall’s carpet gave way to linoleum leading to a thick metal door with a keypad on it.

“Bingo.” Clarke said. “This has got to be it! His lab.”

“Positive thinking, right?” Bellamy said as he reached for the doorknob and gave it a twist. The heavy door didn’t budge. “It was worth a try.” He sighed. “Any chance you know the password?” He asked hopefully. “Murphy give it to you?”

“No.” Clarke sighed. He was locked in the lighthouse bunker the whole time he was here. Jaha was the one messing around in the mansion with ALIE. I should have asked him.” 

Bellamy leaned in close to the keypad “Yep. Jaha used it, alright. All the numbers are covered in dust except the 1, 2, 3, and 4.”

“1234?” Clarke asked skeptically. “That seems way too obvious. Only an idiot would make that the combo.” 

Still, Bellamy gave it a try. A small light on the keypad blinked red. The door did not budge. “Maybe 4321.” Bellamy suggested, trying again. “1243? 1342? 4312?” 

Red, red, red. 

“This is stupid.” Bellamy sighed. “There must be a hundred different combinations.”

“Twenty four.” Clarke corrected him. 

“What?” Bellamy asked, confused.

“There are twenty four possible combinations.” Clarke replied. “That is, assuming that it is a four digit code and you’re correct about the four numbers. It’s basic statistics and probability.”

Bellamy gave her a blank stare. “OK... If you say so, Raven.”

“If I was Raven, we’d be inside the room by now.” Clarke replied, laughing despite her frustration. “Raven would’ve cracked the code on the first try and then she would shrug and be like,” She put on her best Raven voice. “‘It’s a simple substitution code. The numbers represent letters and...” She paused pensively. “Wait...” She said, switching back to her regular voice and staring off into space. She pushed Bellamy’s hand aside and punched excitedly on the keyboard. The light flashed green and the door cracked ajar. 

“OK...” Bellamy said with wide eyes. “I was about to say that your impersonation of Raven sucks, but that was just... Freaky. What was the combo?”

“1,4,3,2.” Clarke answered as she pushed the door open. “A, L, I, E.”

She stepped inside and jumped at the unmistakable sound of ALIE’s voice. “Welcome back, Mr. Bauer.” Clarke shuddered, her eyes frantically searching the room for the woman in the red dress. But the room was empty. 

ALIE is gone. Clarke reminded herself. Destroyed. The room must just be programmed to greet Chris every time the door opens. She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised. Really, she should be surprised the voice didn’t say “Welcome, Chris. Would you care for a lap dance as you work?”

“Speaking of Raven...” Bellamy spoke, oblivious to Clarke’s unease. Not being chipped, Bellamy had never actually encountered ALIE. “I think we just died and went to her heaven. Or maybe MY hell. I always hated the lab portion of Science. Hell... I hated all of Science.”

Her heart rate slowing enough for her to breathe again, Clarke gave the room a proper look. It was a gigantic science lab, more sophisticated than anything they had ever had on the Ark. Shelves lined the walls loaded with vials and bottles and jars of colorful liquids and powders, beakers, flasks, and test tubes of all sizes, bunsen burners, electrophoresis equipment, mini centrifuges, scales, microscopes and countless boxes of slides, stacks of old petri dishes and lines of micropipettes, not to mention a ton of equipment Clarke could not identify. She had no idea what most of the giant machines and contraptions did. One wall was entirely comprised of a line of fume hoods. Another was lined with a row of mounted computers and white boards. And there, on a shelf in the corner, stacked nicely and waiting for her beneath a thick layer of dust... A whole shelf of worn composition notebooks. 

Clarke’s heart leapt as she reached for the top notebook and flipped it open. It contained pages and pages of hypotheses, calculations and notes, procedures and results and modified procedures and more results. The douchebag had one good thing going for him... He was as meticulous in his note-taking as Becca had been. Clarke eyed the giant stack of notebooks, not knowing whether to be elated or overwhelmed. 

“You know...” She said to Bellamy. “There’s no way I’m going to be able to find the information we need in all of this. And I think instead of trying to bring all of it with us, we should just bring Raven here.”

“She’ll have an aneurysm.” Bellamy laughed.

“At least she’ll die happy.” Clarke replied.

“Might as well bring Monty and your mom and Jackson along while we’re at it.” Bellamy suggested. “We can have a whole science-geek party. God knows we have enough room for everyone.”

“Actually, that’s not a bad idea.” Clarke answered excitedly. An idea had just popped into her head and she was surprised she hadn’t thought of it the moment they had first laid eyes on the monstrosity of a home. “What is it you said earlier, Bell? ‘This place is fucking huge? Almost as big as Arkadia?’” 

“Yeah...” Bellamy answered, clearly unsure of where she was going with this and why she was grinning stupidly.

“Murphy’s going to hate me.” Clarke laughed. “I promised him he could blow the shit out of this place. But I have a better idea.”

 

*** 

 

“We’re going to need a bigger boat.” Bellamy observed as they climbed back into the speedboat.

“Not a problem.” Clarke answered, starting the engine and easing them out onto the black waters. 

“Is this another one of your positive thinking exercises?” Bellamy asked in a doubtful voice. 

“Just keep your eyes open.” Clarke answered. “I don’t want to pass it in the dark.”

“Pass what?”

“Our bigger boat.” Clarke answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

It took them nearly an hour of slowly roaming the gigantic lake before they finally stumbled upon the abandoned graunpeka floating forlornly, a giant black shadow in the darkness. Clarke was grateful Emori had thought to drop the anchor in their hurry to get Murphy back to Arkadia. 

Gedeon was expecting the trawler back hours ago. But he would just have to wait. Really, Clarke thought to herself, he should have known better than to make a deal with Skaikru.

 

*** 

 

“But when Azgeda marches on Arkadia’s walls and finds them empty...” Kane argued. “You don’t think they will track us? Figure out where we’ve gone? Don’t we have a better shot of defending Arkadia than a mansion with no gates or walls?”

“They won’t find Arkadia empty.” Clarke responded. “The guards and anyone willing to fight will stay.”

“We won’t stand a chance.” Miller argued.

“No.” Clarke admitted. “If it comes down to a fight, we won’t.”

“What do you mean ‘IF?’” Bellamy asked.

“We have to talk to the king of Azgeda.” Clarke said. “Before war breaks out.” 

“Talk?” Kane said. “Talk about what? He means to eliminate Sky Crew entirely. He is not asking for land or money or allegiance. He has no demands for us to meet. We have no bargaining power. Nothing to offer him but our blood.”

“Not yet, we don’t.” Clarke answered. “But Raven’s going to fix that. And then that is exactly what we are going to offer him... Our blood. If we can convince the king that Sky Crew has the only remedy that can prevent all of his people from dying a horrific death...”

“What if we can’t convince him?” Harper asked.

“We kill him.” Bellamy suggested.

“It’s worth a try.” Clarke shrugged. “If we can’t convince him to call off the attack, we’re dead either way, right? At least some of our crew will be safe in the mansion. Because if we let Azgeda destroy all of Arkadia and the Nightserum, we let them destroy all of humanity with it. But for any Sky Crew who survive the attack and take the serum, six months from now... Well... Azgeda will no longer be a threat.”

“It’s the best plan we have.” Bellamy finished for her. “Unless one of you can suggest something better?”

“And what of Trikru?” Kane asked. “Just how big is this mansion of yours?”

“Big enough for the children and the elderly.” Clarke answered. “I doubt the warriors would ever abandon their villages and go into hiding anyway, even if it means certain death. But maybe we can convince them to accept our help and to make their last stand alongside Arkadia.”

“They have no reason to trust Sky Crew.” Bellamy said in a small voice. Clarke could see the shame in his downcast eyes, hear it in the slight tremble of his voice. And maybe it was wrong of her, but his guilt brought her a small piece of satisfaction.

“No, they don’t.” Kane agreed. “But Indra trusts me and Trikru trusts Indra. I will go to speak with her as soon as the sun rises.”


	17. Trunks and Rockslingers

17  
Trunks and Rockslingers

OCTAVIA

 

My ass is starting to grow numb and my thoughts keep wandering to the cured meat and dried apple slices tucked away in my saddle bag when the ground grows rocky beneath Helios’s hooves. We haven’t passed a lake in over an hour. We have been following a river, the ground sloping steadily upwards through forest. But this forest is different than Trikru’s. The trees are sparser and massive boulders are scattered throughout them, looming between the tree trunks like silent sentinels.

Indra pauses at a fork in the trail and I seize the opportunity to sling one tingling leg over my saddle so that I can twist far enough to reach into my saddle bag. My fingertips brush against the worn leather of Lincoln’s journal and I have nearly pulled it out before I remind myself that it is not what I was searching for. I gently push it back into the depths of the sack and snag the bag of meat instead.

“What is it?” I call out to Indra through a mouthful of jerky. The hunks are tough and chewy and strings of the meat lodge between my molars. But the deermeat is salty and satisfying and I’m so hungry at this point that I would gladly eat roasted rat or charred snake, or the raw river-beetles Lincoln once tried to feed me. “Why have we stopped?”

“It’s blocked.” Indra answers and I can hear the frown in her voice. “They’ve blocked off Southern Pass.”

“Can we get around it?” I ask, craning my neck to try to see past Indra and Cedar and glimpse the path before us. “Maybe go off-trail, ride parallel to it, then cut back onto it later?”

“No.” Indra answers. “The mountains only get steeper and rockier from here on out. The trails themselves are treacherous as it is. Parts of them are cut directly into the crumbly rock face. One wrong footing of your horse and you both go tumbling down the mountainside.”

“So where do we go?” I ask.

“We could turn around and backtrack to Four Corners” Indra answers, hesitantly. “And take Lonely Oaks trail through Yujleda... Broad Leaf,” she adds, switching to English before reverting back to our usual Trigedasleng. “Yujleda territory. It’s safer, but would add a whole day’s ride to our journey.”

“Safer?” I ask, swallowing hard as the salty dried meat catches in my throat. “Safer than what? What’s the other option?”

“We take the Northern Pass.” Indra says, gesturing towards the steep narrow path jutting off to our right. “Through the outskirts of Boudalan... Rock Line.”

I hear the hint of fear in the deep voice of the bravest woman I know. And I know that I should feel the fear running like a poison through my own veins, making my stomach churn and my heart flutter, making my breath catch in my lungs and prickling the hairs on the back of my neck. I should feel the fear rising. But I don’t. I am not afraid. I haven’t been afraid in a long time.

Because I haven’t feared Death since the moment I watched Lincoln’s temple shatter and his crimson blood splatter the mud at Pike’s feet. In that moment I felt no fear, only longing. I did not fear Death, I craved it. But Lincoln’s last wish was for me to live. And so I promised myself that I would not seek Death. 

But when he comes for me at last, I will not run from him. I will not fall at his feet and beg for mercy. I will not wriggle futilely against the claws of his grip. When he comes for me, I will welcome Death like an old friend.

 

“How much time do you think we have before Azgeda marches on Trikru?” I ask Indra. And because I already know the answer, I pull Helios’s reins to the right and nudge him forward with my heel.

“Not enough.” Indra answers.

“Then let’s keep moving.” I say, already leading Helios up the narrow, rocky trail of Northern Pass.

 

***

 

“Keep your eyes sharp, Octavia.” Indra warns me for the third time. And for the third time I ignore her. Keep my eyes sharp? As if I can look at anything other than the narrow, rocky, uneven path beneath me? With every few steps I take I can feel the ground slipping and crumbling beneath my boot as bits of the rock face break free and tumble off the cliff to my left. I try not to watch them shatter into a million pieces against the boulders below. 

About a mile back we left the trees behind. As we climb higher and higher even the scrubby bushes are growing sparser. There are no roots anchoring the rocky soil to the mountain and the gravelly path shifts and slides dangerously beneath our feet. Add to that the random gusts of wind that threaten to push us sideways off the mountain, and I’ve decided that this is by far the least enjoyable nature hike I have ever taken. The path has become so narrow and so uneven that about a half-mile back I decided to dismount and lead Helios by foot. It is slow, slow going as we practically cling to the side of the mountain on our right, keeping as far from the left edge of the trail as we possibly can. 

Helios lets out a terrified whinny each time the rocks give way beneath him and he struggles to find footing in the loose gravel. I try to comfort him with a soothing voice and words of encouragement as I pull his reins further up the mountain trail. But the look he keeps giving me seems to say, “Lincoln never made me do shit like this.”

“Almost there, Helios.” I coo as the path cuts to our right and we at last leave the cliff’s edge, entering a narrow, rocky ravine. Thin patches of crusty yellow-brown snow litter the path ahead and I roll my eyes at the sight of them, because... Honestly? The trail wasn’t treacherous enough already? Now we have to deal with patches of fucking ice and snow too?

“Maybe we should rest... Just for a second.” I suggest tiredly, as Indra rides into the ravine behind us. I cannot understand how it is that she is still mounted. When I climbed off of Helios’s back she had shrugged at me and said “Cedar is more sure-footed than I am.” I can only hope for her sake, and my sake, and the sake of all of Trikru, that she is right about that. 

“Just a second.” Indra agrees, taking a slug of water.

We both breathe easier in the shelter of the ravine and I am reaching for my own canteen when I hear a sudden woosh and a crashing thud as a small boulder shatters into pieces beside my boot. Helios whinnies and bucks as another stone ricochets off the ground at his feet. Heart racing, I turn my eyes to the sky in confusion. 

Four men are repelling down the side of the ravine like spiders. Two more men stand on the ridge above them watching with stones loaded into the slingshots clutched in their hands. I draw my sword as the four men leap from their ropes onto the path, two blocking the way before me, two behind Indra blocking the way from which we have come. 

One of the men steps towards me, eyeing me with eyes the cold gray of slate. A single thick, jagged, black tattoo cuts through one of his brows. The other brow is smeared with a streak of white. I recognize the warpaint as Ice Nation, though the rest of the man’s appearance screams Rock Line. More jagged patterns are shaved into his short-cropped beard like miniature mountains. He wears layers of thin-lightweight clothing made of a material that looks similar to what we used on the Ark. I suspect that it is thermal-insulating, providing warmth while not hindering mobility. A harness clings to the man’s hips and various climbing gear dangles from caribiners fastened to the pack across his shoulders. He holds a long serrated knife in one hand and a sharp climbing pick in the other.

“What are a couple of Trunks doing wandering the mountain so far from their forest?” The man asks, his voice casually threatening. “Are you lost?”

“We’re just passing through, Rockslinger.” Indra growls from atop Cedar. Like me, she has her sword drawn and ready.

“Passing through...” The man echoes her. “On your way from where to where?”

“From somewhere.” Indra answers coldly. “To somewhere else.”

The man lets out a sharp laugh. “Careful with your tongue, Trunk.” He warns. “Or I will cut you down and throw you from the cliff without so much as a ‘timber.’”

I feel the anger rising in me. I want to run my blade right through this man’s cocky smirk and out the back of his skull. I want to watch his blood paint the crusty snow scarlet. I want to watch his body tumble down the mountainside and split open on the jagged rocks below. 

But we are outnumbered. And they have the high ground. And I am fighting against the heat in my chest because I know that to be rash right now could cost me my life, and along with it, Indra’s. And I am not afraid. I do not fear Death. But if I allow him to rip Indra from this world, he will take all of Trikru with her. 

So I slowly reach out with my free hand until my fingers tangle into Helios’s mane. And I try to fight the anger. And I try to breathe.

 

“Trunks aren’t welcome in Boudalan.” The man says, absentmindedly running the serrated edge of his blade against his steel pick so that a metallic “clink, clink, clink,” punctuates his words. 

“We are just passing through.” Indra repeats. And I have to admire the way her cool voice is simultaneously threatening and calm, reasonable. “There is no need for Trikru or Boudalan blood to be spilled today.”

The man eyes us a moment longer, his gaze lingering on my sword and on my eyes. I wonder if he can see the anger in them. I wonder if he can see how desperately I long to spill his blood.

“I suppose not.” He finally says with a smirk. “After all, Trikru’s blood will spill soon enough. The forest will be cut down and all of its Trunks will burn.”

He steps to the side to clear the path for me and Helios, ushering us through with an overly polite wave of his hand. 

“Go back to the trees.” He says. “Tell your people to get ready. Prepare for the storm. Winter may be passing, but ice and stone are coming and the cold has just begun.”

I feel his cold gray eyes following me as I sidle past him. I try to breathe. I try to fight the anger. My boot slides on a bit of crusty snow and I stumble and the man lets out a jagged laugh. 

“Careful, honey.” He warns. “I’d hate to see such a pretty face bashed open against the rocks.”

I try to breathe. I try to fight the anger. But the anger is rising. And finally, I welcome it.

 

In a flash, I pivot on the rocks and slice my blade sideways through the air. It half severs the man’s neck and his hot blood splatters across my face as he stumbles backwards in surprise. I spin and rear my arm back just in time to see the second man coming towards me with a long knife drawn. I fling my blade and send it soaring through the air. It finds its target, delving deep into the man’s breast. Its tip pierces all the way through him and lodges into the crumbling rock face behind him, pinning him to the mountain’s side. I plant a boot on his chest and pull my blade free as the man crumples.

And I turn to help Indra, but of course she already cut down the two men behind her. I smile at the blood on her blade, but Indra’s face is still panicked.

“Run!” She says as the first stone rains down from above. It slams into my shoulder and I stumble under the force of its blow. Another stone smashes into Indra’s thigh and she lets out a small gasp of pain. Regaining my balance, I throw one foot into Helios’s stirrups and I am nearly in the saddle when the next stone bashes me in the temple harder than any fist ever has. White lights flash across my eyelids like lightning and my body lurches sideways out of the saddle. I feel my cheek slam against stone and as suddenly as they appeared, the lights go out around me.

 

*** 

 

I open my eyes to streaks of color. White and black and gray and brown rush past me in blurs. Someone is pulling my ankle with such ferocity I fear my leg will be wrenched from my hip at any moment. But the pain in my ankle is nothing compared to that of my hands and forearms and head. Someone is bashing my head repeatedly against stone and gravel and ice and snow. No... They aren’t bashing me... They are dragging me. And suddenly the pain in my leg makes sense. I feel a jagged edge slice through the skin of my cheek as easily as a peach’s. Another cuts into the back of my hand. Still another drags like a knife along my forearm. I try to pull myself up but we are moving too quickly and I am being tossed about as helpless as a rag doll.

Suddenly a hand wraps around my flailing wrist, pulling me upwards and for a moment I think my body might rip in half right down the middle. But I feel my ankle snap and my foot twists free of the stirrup. And now it’s my legs that are dragging along the rocks as my torso is wrenched upwards. I am thrown like a sack of potatoes over the shoulders of a horse as the streaks of color grow black once more.


	18. Refuge from the Night

18  
Refuge from the Night

OCTAVIA

I am standing in the heart of the empty village and I am all alone. And I can feel the loneliness rising within me. And the air is cold around me. And the air is cold within me. There is a familiar weight in my hands and I look down at them to see my own face smiling back at me from the pages of Lincoln’s journal. And I wish Lincoln were here. Nothing else will quell this loneliness. 

I hear a soft voice call my name and I look up and suddenly I realize I am not alone. Not alone at all. Children are chasing each other about, laughing and hooting and hollering, and there in the center of it all is Lincoln. He smiles softly at me and holds his arms out and I want to run to him. I want his strong arms to wrap around me so tightly that I feel my boots leave the ground. I want to fall apart in his arms. I want him to hold me together. 

But before I can run to him I realize it is snowing and in surprise I turn my eyes to the gray sky above me. The flakes fall earnestly all around me and I catch one in my naked palm. And I smile down at its whiteness. But my smile droops and my eyebrows furrow in confusion. Because the flake doesn’t melt. Because it is not snow. It is ash. And the gray sky above me is thick with smoke. And when I look back down at my hand, the flake is gone and I am holding a small seashell instead.

And I realize the village has gone silent again. The laughter has stopped as abruptly as it began. And I look for the children running and playing, but they have all fallen. They are lying in the mud, silent and still as the fire burns around us and the ash collects on them like a blanket. And I turn my gaze to Lincoln. He is kneeling in the mud now and his head is cocked as he stares up at the smoky sky and he is whispering something. And I think I am meant to hear his words, but even in the silence I cannot make them out. And then the blood is raining from his temple and he falls sideways in the mud.

And I am running towards him now and I am screaming, but still there is only silence all around. I drop to my knees beside him in the red and white and brown, sinking into blood and ash and mud. And I roll him towards me so I can look at his face.

And as I turn him, his heavy body grows light and I realize it is not Lincoln that I hold in my arms. And I have to brush the tangled dark braids out of her face to see her. She looks up at me with loneliness in her hazel eyes. And then she looks past me and her eyes grow wide with fear. And I turn to see the wolf snarling, circling us, its ugly yellow teeth bared. And there is hunger in his eyes and streaks of white across his blood-stained muzzle. I reach for my blade but it is not there. And I am powerless to stop the wolf as it lunges forward and snaps its powerful jaws around my ankle and pulls. And he drags me. And he drags me. And he drags me.

 

*** 

 

I am not aware that I was moving until the sudden stop drags me from my nightmares. The wolf no longer has a hold of me but my ankle still burns as fiercely as when his fangs were lodged in it. My entire body aches and my head is swimming and when I open my eyes and see the light I think maybe I am still dreaming. But I close my eyes and shake my foggy head and when I open them again the light is still there. And now I am thinking I must have bashed my head so hard that I am hallucinating again.

But at least the white light is no longer flashing like it did when the stone collided with my temple. The light is constant and steady and I hope that is a good sign. There is darkness far above me, but all around me the light combats it. It is soft, silvery white, like moonlight enveloping me. It is altogether eerie. And it is altogether beautiful.

 

I am still draped like a sack of potatoes over the shoulders of a horse and I wonder how long I have been lying here unconscious, because my back hurts like hell. I let out a groan and try to pull my aching body into a seated position. Indra’s arm wraps around me and helps prop me up onto my backside and I feel my jaw drop as I finally have a proper view of the world around me. 

The soft white light is emanating from the bark of the hundreds of trees surrounding us. Their trunks glow silver in the darkness of the night. The glow of their limbs goes from silver to white as they branch out further and become thin and spindly. The light spills from the trees and collects on the ground like puddles of moonlight and I feel myself blinking because the utter beauty of the forest around me is absolutely overwhelming. And I think to myself that maybe I should bash my head against rocks more often.

“Ai laik Indra kom Trikru.” Indra speaks into the quiet of the night and I wonder who she is talking to, because I see no one. And I wonder again how hard I hit my damn head. And I wonder if maybe Indra hit her head too, because we are completely alone and she is still speaking as casually as if someone is standing right before us. “And I seek light’s refuge from the night.”

“Indra?” I ask groggily. “Who are you...”

But Indra shushes me quickly. “We’re being watched.” She whispers in my ear. 

A shiver runs down my spine as I look all around us, scanning the silver-white forest. But still I see no one. Indra gives Cedar a nudge in the side and we take a few cautious strides forward.

“I am Indra of the Woods Clan.” She repeats. “And I seek light’s refuge from the night.”

Suddenly a body falls out of the sky and lands gracefully on its feet right in front of Cedar’s nose. He bucks in surprise and if Indra’s arm wasn’t clamped so tightly around me I would have had my body bashed against the ground once again. The girl holds a long bow in her hand, but I am relieved to see that it is not drawn. The bow’s riser glows silver-white and I realize it must have been fashioned from the bark of the mysterious glowing trees. Like me, the girl has braids running through her hair, but she has woven thin twigs through the braids so that they glow like strands of tinsel in her dark locks. The effect is beautiful, mesmerizing. 

The girl gives Indra a soft nod as other Grounders fall gracefully from the branches of the trees around us, landing soft and silent on the forest floor. Indra was right... We were not alone. Not alone at all.  
“Ai laik Malika kom Trishana.” The girl speaks. “And we’ve been expecting you, Indra kom Trikru.”

 

*** 

 

“Secure your animals here.” Malika instructs us. “Visitors to the Glowing Forest must enter by foot.”

Indra leaps from the saddle behind me and I follow suit. But as soon as my feet hit the ground my ankle crumples beneath me and I fall to my elbows with a shriek of pain. The fire in my ankle is so fierce that I am struggling to breathe as Indra’s hands hook under my armpits and she pulls me to my feet. I balance awkwardly on my good leg as she wraps a steady arm around my torso.

“Ste yuj.” She whispers in my ear as she props me against the glowing trunk of a thick tree so that she can tie the horses to another. On my own, I feel dizzy. I feel weak. But when Indra wraps her arm around me again I struggle to find my strength. I hobble along beside her as Malika leads us deeper into the glowing forest.

If my jaw were not clenched in pain I’m sure I would feel it drop again. The dwellings of Trishana are not cabins or huts or caves or tents or buildings. The villages of Trishana are not built on the solid ground. They are built entirely in the trees. The walls of countless tree houses wrap around the massive trunks of the strange glowing trees. The houses are linked by a complex series of bridges, ropes, and platforms running between them. There are multiple levels of tree houses, some built around the trunks of the trees low enough that I could almost graze them with the tip of my sword if I held it out above me and stood on my tip toes. Others sit high up in the very tops of the giant trees. 

But the most amazing thing about the city of tree houses above us isn’t its complex layout or elegant construction. It’s the fact that every dwelling, every platform, every bridge, is glowing as brightly as the trunks from which they were crafted. And it is like the city is forged directly from solidified moonlight and I cannot pull my eyes from its beauty.

 

Only twice in my life have I ever been this blown away by the sheer beauty of the world. The first time was on that fateful night when Bellamy snuck me out of the prison cell of our room on the Ark to take me to the masquerade ball and I caught my first glimpse of Earth. Her surface was a shiny, swirling mess of green and blue and brown and white shining boldly in the black void of space like an old woman wearing a technicolor muumuu to a black-tie event. The second time was just after we crash landed and I found myself in the midst of a swarm of butterflies glowing a brilliant fluorescent sapphire blue against the trees. 

I manage to pull my eyes from the city above us to look around at the ground level of the forest as I realize there are no ladders or ropes leading up to the structures above us. And even as I am wondering how the hell I am going to climb my way up into these trees when I can barely manage to stand upright, the girl leads us to a glowing square platform on the forest floor. Four thick ropes run from the corners of the platform and meet in the middle in a massive knot. A caribiner is fastened to the knot. We stand on the platform stupidly, waiting for something to happen.

Then Malika calls out to someone above us. “Teeko, let the rope down!”

A boy’s face appears over the ledge of another platform above us. He peers down at us with a smirk on his face. 

“Would it kill you to ask nicely, just once in your life, Malika?” He says with a teasing laugh. Malika rolls her eyes.

“Teeko, let the damn rope down.” Malika repeats, irritably. “Please.”

A thick rope drifts down to us from above and I am about to dodge it when Malika effortlessly snatches the carabiner on the rope’s end out of the air above me as if she has done it a thousand times before. She secures the rope’s caribiner to the matching caribiner in the middle of the platform then calls back to the boy.

“Pull us up, Teeko.” She commands. “Please.” She adds, begrudgingly.

The platform jolts beneath us as the ropes grow taut and we start to rise through the chilly air towards the city above. Only a moment passes before our platform is level with the boy’s. I see that he raised us by pulling the rope through a pulley, but it appears the scrawny boy had no trouble raising all three of us. My eyes follow the rope through the treetops and I realize there are so many complicated pulley systems attached to it that the boy could probably lift hundreds and hundreds of pounds without breaking a sweat. 

“You’re welcome, Malika.” Teeko says sarcastically and I can tell by the glare she shoots him that they must be siblings. 

Our platform sways slightly as Indra and I hobble from it onto Teeko’s. But his platform is solid and steady beneath me and I am grateful.

Malika turns to Indra. “Turlino instructed us to bring you directly to him upon your arrival, Indra kom Trikru. But it seems your friend might benefit from a visit with our healer.”

“She would indeed.” Indra nods to the girl. “Your kindness and hospitality are much appreciated, Malika kom Trishana.”

“My father always spoke well of the warriors of the Woods Clan.” Malika replies. “As children, he always told us the story of how he owed his life to one long gone.”

 

Malika turns her gaze to her brother and immediately her courtesies are overridden by annoyance. “Teeko,” She says. “Take...”

She pauses to look at me awkwardly. “Octavia kom Trikru.” I provide through gritted teeth, still struggling just to remain standing.

“Take Octavia kom Trikru to Healer Orna’s.” Malika commands her brother.

Teeko looks like he’s about to argue with her simply out of habit until his eyes fall on mine. He gives me a ridiculous smile, and even in the strange white light of the trees I can see his cheeks flush. I can also see the acne riddled across them.

“Sure thing, Sis.” Teeko says, holding an arm out to me. His scrawny arm is about a third of the width Lincoln’s were and I almost refuse it. But I can’t stand on my own, and as Indra’s arm releases me I fall against the boy’s side.

“I’m Teeko kom Trishana.” The boy tells me as if I am too stupid to have picked up on that by now. I just grunt in reply as we hobble from the platform onto a swaying bridge and I feel like I might pass out with the effort of staying upright. 

One ramp, three platforms, and two bridges later we finally stop outside a door and I lean against the wall of the tree house, fighting the urge to vomit. 

“Well,” The boy says awkwardly, nervously. “See you around, Octavia kom Trikru. Hope you get better soon.” 

And I just grunt again as he leaves me to knock on the door. An old woman answers. Like Malika, she has twigs woven into her wispy curls, glowing white against white. She eyes me up and down without saying anything, her eyes lingering on my face and hands before falling to my ankle. Then she nods me in and points to a cot sitting in the corner of the room. I realize there are no candles or lanterns inside. All of the illumination is being provided by the walls of the room itself as well as the massive trunk running through its center. I’ve never been inside of a tree house before and the sensation is strange, like being both inside and outside at the same time. 

The woman fiddles in the opposite corner, and I hear the clanking of bottles and vials. Then she approaches me with a shallow bowl of a light lavender liquid. She dips a cloth into the liquid and presses it to my cheek and I suck in a sharp breath at the incredible sting of it, biting my tongue to keep from screaming. The woman ignores my flinching and wincing and gasping as she silently proceeds to clean my face and neck before moving to my arms and hands. And by the time she stands up and retreats into the opposite corner again I feel like my whole body is on fire. 

She approaches me again and, despite myself, I cower before her as if expecting her to strike me rather than hold out a small vial of greenish-gray liquid. 

“Drink.” She tells me, speaking for the first time and her voice is shaky with age.

“What is it?” I ask, nervously accepting the tiny vial.

“I have to reset that ankle.” She replies, eyeing my swollen leg. “And, judging by how you handled Crocusjus, I’d say you are a tough girl. But, Still... tough or not... I don’t think you want to be awake for what comes next.”

I take her advice and down the vial she gave me. It tastes all at once like cabbage and broccoli and lemons and pickles and it burns like Monty’s moonshine on the way down. I nearly gag. But I don’t have to deal with the aftertaste for long. Within seconds even the eerie white glow fades to darkness around me. 

 

*** 

 

I’m so warm and comfy I don’t want to open my eyes just yet. The air smells like pine and bark and damp earth and it reminds me of Lincoln and for half a second I think if I roll onto my side I will feel him warm and solid and real beside me. For half a second I forget that he is gone. But I reach out and there is only cold empty space beside me.

I finally open my eyes to the soft white light of morning and I blink against the light, trying to figure out just where the hell I am and why my bed is outside. No... My bed is not outside. The massive trunk beside me is inside. And it takes my foggy, achy brain a very long second for the memories to come rushing back. And with the memories comes the anger. And this time there is no one I can direct it at but me.

Because the man had stepped aside and the man was letting us pass and all I had to do was fight the anger a moment longer. All I had to do was breathe one moment longer. But I had let the anger rise. I had welcomed it. Because Luna is right... I let the anger intoxicate me. And I am addicted to its rush. And now war is charging towards me and I can only hobble out to greet it.

Afraid to look at my swollen ankle and find that it is as thick as the tree trunk beside me, I put off the moment of truth by staring up at the ceiling instead and trying to wiggle my toes. My ankle throbs with the effort. But last night it had felt like my leg was on fire and the flames had climbed up my calf and inched down my foot to lick at my toes. This morning I am relieved that the fire seems to have burnt itself out and what is left is a dull throb and a strange heavy pressure. Mustering my courage, I finally wrench my body into a sitting position to inspect the damage and I realize my ankle has been encased in a sort of cast, running from the ball of my foot halfway up my shin. And I sigh because how the fuck am I supposed to go to battle with a chunk of concrete wrapped around my foot? And I sigh because this is all my fucking fault. 

 

“The plaster...” A voice speaks and my heart jumps into my throat. I had no idea the old woman was beside me. Has she been here the whole time? “Will grow softer as the bone grows stronger. When it is soft enough to cut through with a knife you will again be strong enough to stand on your own.”

“About how long will that be?” I ask.

She ignores the question and instead wraps a wrinkled hand around my wrist, pulling my arm out towards her for inspection. I only now notice the thin layer of what looks like fern fronds wrapped around it. She peels the fronds off and examines my wounds, her lips puckered in apparent approval. There are dashes and scrapes up and down my skin, but I am surprised to see that they have already closed and scabbed over and have begun the healing process. The woman releases my arms and suddenly shoves a bowl in my face with the simple command of “Eat.”

The brown broth steams slightly as it sloshes around in the bowl and I warily eye what looks like some kind of wild mushrooms floating in it. Remembering the horrid taste of the tonic she gave me last night, I hesitate before nervously taking the bowl into my own hands and lifting it to my mouth. I take the tiniest sip I can. And then I take a long, deep swallow. Because the broth is warm and savory and delicious and it sinks into my stomach like a tonic. And, maybe it’s my imagination, but already the aches of my body seem to be lessening.

“Thank you.” I say to the old woman. “For everything... I mean... You don’t even know me. I’m not even from your clan. But you helped me. Thank you.” I repeat. 

A small smile adds yet another crease to the woman’s lined face. “I am a healer.” She tells me. “In my eyes there are no Trishana or Trikru. There are only the sick and the injured and those in need of my touch.”

I look into the woman’s eyes, and though the skin around them is worn and sags with age, the eyes are bright and clear and the same chocolate brown as Lincoln’s. And I see the same kindness in them that I saw in his. And I wonder what the world would look like if everyone saw it through eyes as clear as this woman’s, as clear as Lincoln’s. But I know the rest of the world has eyes like mine. The first things we ever see are the tattoos and scars and warpaint and clothes that mark us as different, rather than the needs that we all share that mark us not as Trikru or Trishana or Azgeda, but simply as human. And I wish I could have eyes like hers. I wish I could have eyes like Lincoln’s. But I don’t.

 

A sudden “thud, thud, thud,” on the door rumbles through the small room and the woman places one fragile hand on my shoulder as she rises. Her hand is so much smaller, lighter, frailer, than Lincoln’s but the tenderness of her touch is so similar it nearly gives me goosebumps. The fingers only linger for the briefest of moments before the eyes that are so much like Lincoln’s turn away from me. 

And I feel my own eyes roll at the sound of the boy’s voice.

“Sorry to disturb you, Healer Orna. I’ve come for...” I see Teeko’s carrot-top head peek around the door frame and his freckled face lights up as brightly as the glowing trees of this forest as he spots me. 

“Octavia! I’m supposed to tell you it’s time. Your companion is waiting for you. She seems to be in a hurry to leave.” He looks disappointed to say. “I can take you to her.”

Reluctantly I swivel out of bed and put my feet on the floor. I lace up one boot, and not knowing what to do with the other, tuck it uselessly under my arm. Then I take a deep breath, clench my teeth, prepare for the worst, and stand.

My ankle throbs like a sonofabitch but the cast is surprisingly sturdy, and even better, surprisingly light. And I smile at the look of extreme disappointment on Teeko’s face as I ignore his outstretched arm and limp right past him, calling out one last “thank you” to Healer Orna as I step into the sunlight.

 

The forest around us is no longer glowing, but it is still green and bright and beautiful. As I look out at the maze of tree houses and bridges and ropes, I imagine growing up here must be like living on an endless playground.

“Your face looks so much better!” Teeko says as we move through the treetops. “I mean...” He quickly stutters, and I can see the pink spreading through his cheeks, competing with the red speckles of pimples and making his freckles stand out even further. “Not that it looked bad yesterday. Even banged up your face was still pretty. It’s just now, it’s even more...” He cuts himself off nervously and I am grateful. “Healer Orna must have given you Crocusjus. Stings like a bastard, right?” He laughs.

I just give him another grunt in reply. He catches me looking up into the branches of the trees and apparently decides I need a science lesson.

“The bark only luminesces at night.” He says. “Throughout the day the leaves absorb the sun’s rays just like any other plant. But during the process of photosynthesis, natsoncha trees produce an acidic phosphorescent by-product that’s stored in the sap and causes the bark to...”

The kid rambles on but I am only half listening. I have absolutely no interest in this scrawny red-headed, red-cheeked, pasty-skinned boy. But, I think with a wicked grin, he might just be dorky enough for Raven. Maybe someday I can introduce them. Teeko mistakes my smile for interest and starts going off about all the various uses of the phosphorescent sap, its medicinal properties and how it can be used as an astringent in facial cream. And I am thinking that his pock-marked face is the exact opposite of a walking advertisement for that cream. And it is a relief like none other to finally spot Indra and Malika on a platform one tree over, waiting for us.

 

“I don’t know how many times Healer Orna’s skilled hands have brought me healing and comfort.” Malika smiles at me as Teeko lowers us to the forest floor. Malika has the same blue eyes as her brother, almost as blue as Clarke’s. But her hair is as jet black as Raven’s and the combination is striking. Her olive skin is clear and bright and even without the glowing twigs in her braids she is beautiful. And I can only wonder how it is that she got all the good genes in the family. 

“Orna’s practiced hands brought both me and Teeko into this world. And after our mother passed to the Land of Eternal Light, she has always been there to look after us when we needed someone. Looks like she fixed you right up. You look a lot better than when you came.”

“So I’ve been told.” I laugh as the platform hits the ground and I hobble off onto the cushy forest floor. 

Malika turns to Indra and grips her forearm. “May the light ever guide you through the night.” She says.

“May it dwell within you ever bright.” Indra replies.

Indra joins my side and Malika gives us one last smile and nod before turning her eyes back towards the treetops. “Pull me back up, Teeko.” She commands. 

“Ask nicely!” Teeko shouts back.

“Damn it, Teeko. Pull me back up!” Malika replies and I find myself laughing as I follow Indra through the trees.

 

*** 

 

“It was not easy to convince him, but Turlino finally pledged to provide Trikru with one hundred and twenty of Trishana’s warriors.” Indra tells me as I awkwardly throw my casted leg over Helios and struggle to heave myself into the saddle with a grunt.

“One hundred and twenty?” I reply, trying and failing to hide the disappointment in my voice. 

“I know it does not sound like much.” Indra admits, giving Cedar a kick. “But Trishana warriors are skilled archers. They move silently and quickly through the treetops as effortlessly as the ground. They perch in the branches above you and you do not even know they are there until their arrow lodges into the tender spot between your shoulder blades.”

“Still...” I reply. “Will one hundred and twenty be enough to hold back Azgeda? And Boudalan?”

“No.” Indra answers. “But it’s a start. Trishana marches for Trikru day after tomorrow. Which gives us us just enough time for our next stop.”

“Please tell me that we are not taking the Northern Pass.” I mumble. Indra doesn’t reply, but I sigh in relief as she directs Cedar onto a trail leading Southwest.


	19. Black

19  
Black

CLARKE

 

“Welcome, Mr. Bauer.” Raven gasped, jumped, and spun on the spot at the sound of ALIE’s greeting. 

“It’s OK.” Clarke tried not to laugh. “She’s not here. Sorry... I should’ve warned you.”

“I thought I’d only ever have to hear that bitch’s voice again in my damn nightmares.” Raven grumbled, clutching at her chest. 

“Me too.” Clarke sighed. “But hey... What do you think of the lab? Not too shabby, huh?”

“Wow...” Raven gasped in a reverent whisper as if she had just stepped foot onto holy ground. Clarke half expected her to start removing her shoes and wrapping a covering around her head. “It’s beautiful.”

Raven made a slow sweep of the room, lightly dragging her fingertips over the equipment as if checking to make sure it was solid and real, and not just a figment of her dreams, constantly making exclamations like: “An atomic absorption spectrophotometer!” or “A dry blood spot processor... that will be useful!” and “Look at the size of this autoclave and this HPL Chromatographer!” She started fiddling with the chromatographer and Clarke had to seize her by the wrist to get her attention.

“Before you have playtime with the equipment...” Clarke pulled her hand away from the complicated machine and yanked her towards the shelf of dusty journals. “I’m afraid you have some reading to do.” 

 

*** 

 

“This is fascinating!” Raven said for the fourth or fifth time. Clarke just rolled her eyes and went back to playing with a micropipette, arranging neat rows of minuscule water droplets on the lab countertop. “The science they were doing back then...” Raven continued. “Well... To say they were ahead of their time...”

“Forget fascinating.” Clarke interrupted, adding another droplet to her design. “Have you found anything actually USEFUL yet?”

“No.” Raven answered. “Not in regards to making nightblood. But I’ve only gone through two of the notebooks so far.” She said, closing one and tossing it aside. “Maybe the next one, right? When Monty finally gets here, we’ll have him go through the computers’ databases too. No telling what kind of information Chris might have stored on them.”

“Good idea.” Clarke said, distractedly, adding another drop. Monty had taken the trawler. Who knew when his group would finally arrive. 

“Welcome, Mr. Bauer.” ALIE’s voice made Clarke jump and smear a line of droplets. She looked up to see her mother frantically scanning the room, her eyes wide with panic.

“It’s OK, Abby.” Raven reassured her. “She’s not here.”

“God, I hate that creepy voice.” Abby breathed a sigh of relief. Then, looking around the room, did a perfect re-enactment of Raven’s entrance. “Wow!” She whispered. “This lab is incredible! Raven did you see the integrated mineral analyzer?”

“That’s nothing.” Raven replied. “Check out the size of this X-Ray Diffractometer!”

“Raven, stay focused.” Clarke scolded her. “Mom, quit distracting her.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Raven mumbled sarcastically with a laugh, plunging her nose back into the journal.

 

Abby meandered up to Clarke and peered over her shoulder. “A butterfly.” She said. “No... Bird’s wings?”

“Huh?” Clarke replied, confused. She pulled her eyes from her work to see that Abby was looking down at her droplet design. Clarke glanced down at it, surprised. She had only been absentmindedly pipetting. She had had no intention of creating an actual design. Yet, she definitely had. And it wasn’t a butterfly. It wasn’t a bird’s wings. She recognized it immediately. It was Lexa’s warpaint. Blushing, she quickly smeared her arm across the design, scattering the beads of water until they coated her sleeve and trickled to the floor. 

“It’s nothing.” She answered. “I was just playing around. You get the first batch of kids settled in?” She asked, changing the subject.

“Yeah.” Abby answered. “They chose the sports arena in the basement... Go figure. I had to hide all the alcohol.”

“Go into any of the bathrooms yet?” Clarke chuckled, thinking of the magazine racks.

“No...” Abby answered worriedly. “Why?”

“Guys!” Raven’s sudden shout cut between them. “Guys! Guys... I found it!”

 

*** 

 

“Wow, this procedure is complicated!” Raven commented. But she sounded more excited by the challenge than overwhelmed. “Especially when you add all of Becca’s modifications to it.”

“Can you replicate it?” Clarke asked, teetering the fine edge between nervousness and excitement. “Please tell me that you can replicate it.”

“Of course I can replicate it.” Raven said with a cocky roll of her eyes. “That is... If we have all of the ingredients.”

“Read ‘em off.” Abby said, moving to the shelves of endless bottles of liquids and jars of colorful powders. 

Raven hobbled over and Clarke joined them for moral support more than anything else. She had no idea what any of this stuff was and frankly, she was afraid to touch anything in case it burned her skin off or spontaneously burst into flame. 

Raven started down the list. “Hydrochloric acid...”

“HCL, check.” Abby echoed, pulling a gigantic jug of clear liquid off the shelf.

“Acetone...”

“Plenty of that.”

“Ferric nitrate, check.”

“We’re going to need more sodium hydroxide.” Raven noted. “But we’ve got a bunch of that back in the Ark’s lab. And more ethanol. We’ll have to raid Jasper and Monty’s homemade supply. We’ll just have to distill it and concentrate it, first. No more moonshine for a while.” 

“We’re good on potassium iodide.” Abby chimed in. “But we have a problem... There’s barely any pyrolusite.”

“The procedure calls for ten grams of pyrolusite per one liter yield of serum.” Raven replied. “Where the hell are we going to get that much pyrolusite?”

Clarke tried to remember what Raven had so excitedly told her about pyrolusite the other day. As was usually the case when Raven went into science-geek mode, Clarke had only been half listening at the time. “You said it’s a rock, right?” She asked. “Can we find it in the soil, or maybe in the rocks in the mountains?”

“No.” Raven answered. “It’s actually found in wet areas like bogs, lakes, or flood plains. It’s usually found running through sandstone.”

“What does it look like?” Clarke asked.

“It’s black.” Raven answered. “It’s...”

“It looks exactly like this.” Abby interrupted. She handed Clarke a jar of a fine black powder.

Clarke uncapped it and dipped her finger into it. It was so fine that it smudged the tip of her finger black like the charcoal she had once used to draw Lexa. And the answer was so obvious.

“I know where we can find more.” She smiled as Abby and Raven exchanged a look of confusion. The answer had been staring her right in the face. The answer was still dripping down her sleeve. She had seen this powder before. Whenever she closed her eyes and let the memories in, she still saw it. And it wasn’t on a butterfly. It wasn’t on a bird’s wings. It was in the black around Lexa’s eyes.

 

*** 

 

“It makes perfect sense!” Clarke exclaimed. “Becca wasn’t just the first commander, she was the first leader of Trikru. Of all of the clans, Trikru’s line has the most ties to Becca. If Becca used pyrolusite to create nightblood, of course it would have special significance to Trikru. I never thought to wonder why Trikru chose black for their warpaint markings. Azgeda paints their faces white. I’ve heard Sangedakru paints theirs yellow-brown and Boudalan silver-gray. If I’d actually thought about it, I would have thought it would make more sense for Trikru to use green or brown. But I never questioned it. Now it makes perfect sense!” She repeated.

“Raven...” Clarke turned excitedly to Raven as she reluctantly pried her eyes from the pages of Bauer’s journal. “If I get you the pyrolusite, how soon can you have the serum ready?”

“Well...” Raven paused, examining the procedure. “We have to purify the pyrolusite to remove any contaminants... You know, to prevent paralysis or temporary blindness, stuff like that. We have to extract the zinc, combine it with the ferric sulfate, run it through a sodium hydroxide bath...”

“Raven...” Clarke interrupted with an impatient sigh. “I don’t need the whole procedure, just a time frame.”

“Well...” Raven said again. “An hour to purify and extract...” She mumbled, doing the math. “3 hours in the sodium hydroxide bath. Two more in the dessicator... I’d say from start to finish I could maybe have it ready in fourteen hours. It will take days to make enough for everyone though. Maybe weeks.”

“Do you have enough of everything you need to start the first batch right now?” Clarke asked excitedly.

Raven set the small tin of pyrolusite on the scale. “34 grams.” She smiled, already pulling beakers off the shelf. “I have enough to make a triple batch.” 

“I’ll start the HCL solution.” Abby said, snatching her own giant flask off the shelf and setting to work at Raven’s side.

Raven carefully dumped the pyrolusite onto the scale and started dividing the powder into smaller mounds. She pulled her brown eyes from the black powder and raised her brows at Clarke. “Well?” She asked. “What the hell are you waiting for? The end of the world? Go get your ass on the boat.”

“I’ll be back!” Clarke flashed her an excited grin and rushed from the room.

“Bring back as much ethanol and sodium hydroxide as you can scrounge up!” She heard Raven call as she jogged down the narrow hall.

 

*** 

 

“Jasper!” Clarke shouted, shoving her head into his room without bothering to knock.

“What?!” Jasper groaned. “I’m sleeping.”

“It’s almost noon.” Clarke chided him. “Get your lazy ass up!”

“Do you have to shout?” Jasper whined, burrowing his face into his sheets and covering his head with his pillow. “What’s the damn emergency?”

“I need all your ethanol.” Clarke said, walking over to his cot, yanking the pillow off his head, and beating him across the ass with it.

“Ethanol?” Jasper replied, feigning ignorance. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to Clarke.” He said in a formal voice, finally rolling over to face her and raising his eyebrows innocently at her. “I hope you are not insinuating that I am brewing my own moonshine. I gave up that vile practice a long time ago. Don’t you know it’s not permitted in Arkadia?”

“I don’t have time for your bullshit, Jasper.” Clarke answered, trying not to laugh at his ridiculous holier-than-thou glare. “Cough it up. All of it.” She demanded as she shoved the pillow into his chest and turned towards the door. “And then find Jackson.” She added, pausing in the door frame. “Tell him I need all the sodium hydroxide he can find.”

“Where are you going?” Jasper called as Clarke rushed back down the hall. “To find Kane!” She hollered back, not caring whether or not he heard.

 

*** 

 

“We need to go back to Ton DC.” Clarke blurted out as she approached the table, not bothering to pull up a chair. 

“Clarke?” Bellamy asked, surprised to see her. “I thought you were going to the mansion with Raven...”

“I did.” Clarke answered. “I’m back.”

“That was fast.” Bellamy mumbled, looking confused. 

Clarke ignored him and turned to Kane. “I need to speak with Indra.”

“Indra is not there.” Kane answered. “She and Octavia left two days ago.”

“Left?” Clarke repeated stupidly. “What do you mean they left? Where did they go?”

“To find willing allies for Trikru.” Kane explained. “Trikru means to make a stand against Azgeda. I’m afraid they insisted that they do not need Skaikru’s guns by their side or anywhere near their lands. They were rather... Adamant... In their refusal of Skaikru’s aid.”

“Who did you speak with?” Clarke asked.

“A council of four of Ton DC’s elders.” Kane answered.

“Take me to them.” Clarke commanded.

“When I left,” Kane replied. “They gave me very specific instructions never to return or to allow any members of Skaikru within a mile of Ton DC’s borders. Any Skaikru captured on their land will be held as a prisoner of war.”

“Take me to them.” Clarke repeated.

“The council was extremely clear...” Kane began, but Bellamy interrupted him.

“Little word of advice, Kane...” He said. “When a Griffin woman sets her jaw like this...” He pointed at Clarke’s jawline as she frowned confusedly at him. “Don’t bother arguing with her. You won’t win. Save yourself the headache and just do what she asks.”

“I’m still learning how to handle Griffin women.” Kane sighed defeatedly.

“Welcome to the club.” Bellamy laughed. “It’s a free lifetime membership, by the way.”

Clarke shot Bellamy a look of annoyance, sticking her tongue at him. But she was smiling as Kane set down his fork, pushed himself to his feet, and let Clarke lead him by the wrist out of the cafeteria.


	20. Trees and Sky

20  
Trees and Sky  
CLARKE

“We come unarmed!” Clarke shouted into the empty trees. She did not yet see the Trikru scouts, but she had spent enough time marching by Trikru’s side... By Lexa’s side... To know that they were there. She could sense their eyes following her. She could feel the beads of their arrows drawn on her. 

“Ai laik Clarke kom Skaikru and I seek rest in the shelter of the trees!” She called out the customary greeting of peaceful travelers, before adding her specific purpose. “We request audience with the elders of Trikru!”

“Skaikru,” A man growled behind her, appearing out of nowhere. Behind him four more warriors emerged like spirits from the trees. Two had arrows drawn. The others clutched long blades in their hands. “Are not welcome in this forest. Leave now, while you still have your lives.”

“We wish to speak with Trikru’s elders.” Clarke repeated, ignoring the man’s threats. “We come as friends and allies. We are friends of Indra kom Trikru. We marched alongside Heda Lexa kom Trikru.”

The man suddenly raised his free arm and before Clarke could even think to move, brought the back of his fist across her cheek. Clarke reeled from the blow. Pain exploded across her jaw. Her brain slammed against the inside of her skull and red flashed behind her eyelids. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.

“How dare you befoul the name of our late commander with your Skaikru lips.” The man snarled. “Commander Lexa sent our army to protect Skaikru and your people betrayed her trust. Liars and murderers, Skaikru is neither friend nor ally of Trikru.”

“The man responsible for that massacre has paid for his crimes.” Kane spoke. “Blood has answered blood.”

“The blood of one man cannot answer for that of three hundred!” The man growled.

“No, it can’t.” Clarke agreed. “You are right... We have Trikru blood on our hands. And nothing can ever wash us clean of it. We cannot repay our debt. But I promise you... If you do not grant us permission to speak with your council of elders, you will carry the blood of all of Trikru on your own hands. And you will find yourself as powerless to wash your sullied hands clean of it as we are. Enough Trikru blood has been spilled. We only seek to prevent further bloodshed. Please...” She pleaded. “Take us to your council.”

The man nodded at his comrades and the warriors suddenly seized Clarke and Kane violently by the wrists. “Very well.” The man said. “I shall take you to them... As prisoners of war. You shall answer for the crimes of your people. You can plead for mercy at the feet of the elders.”

The man’s comrades gave Clarke a rough push forward and she didn’t resist as they dragged her through the trees. Because, though it hadn’t exactly gone as smoothly as she had planned, she had still gotten just what she had come for and every shove pushed her one step closer to Lexa.

 

*** 

 

“Marcus of the Sky People.” The old woman spoke in a cold, firm voice. “Were you not directed, just this morning, never to step foot on Trikru land again? You fail to observe simple, specific orders. Time and time again you and your people demonstrate that you are not to be trusted. Time and time again you test the limits of Trikru’s patience and mercy. You were clearly warned of the consequences of disobeying these orders and now your actions will be dealt with accordingly.”

“Wait!” Clarke tried to call out. But, being gagged as she all too often seemed to find herself, her words were muffled and all that escaped her was an unintelligible groan. “Please!” She moaned, fixing the woman’s wrinkly eyes with her wild, desperate, pleading ones. The woman glared at her, clenching and unclenching her jaw. Finally, looking as if she already regretted her decision even as she made it, the woman sighed and nodded at the man restraining Clarke. Clarke sucked in a deep breath as the dirty rag was tugged free of her mouth. 

“You have thirty seconds to make a convincing plea for you and your friend’s lives.” The woman said. 

“If you kill us...” Clarke choked out. “You kill all of Trikru.”

The woman sighed impatiently. “I already spoke with this man earlier today.” She grumbled. “Trikru needs no aid from lying, murderous, cowards. We will stand on our own and with those who have proven their loyalty in battles past. Trikru has held these woods since the reign of the first commander. Our strength is as deeply rooted as the trees beneath which we stand. We will hold firm again. We do not need Skaikru or your weapons.”

“Yes, you do.” Clarke retorted boldly, ignoring the dangerous flash in the woman’s angry eyes. “Maybe not our weapons... But you do need US. Even if Trikru does not fall before Azgeda, even if you manage to weather their storm, within months all that is left of Trikru will die.”

“Kill them now!” One of the men on the council rose to his feet. “Let’s be done with their nonsense.”

Clarke pressed on hurriedly as another man seconded the first’s suggestion. “There is a sickness coming!” She shouted desperately. “The world is dying! And all of us will die with it if you do not listen to what I have to say.”

The woman glared at Clarke with a mixture of confusion, suspicion, and open dislike. But she raised a hand to silence the men shouting for Clarke’s execution and allowed her to keep speaking. 

“Skaikru has a cure.” Clarke breathed. “We can make enough for all of Trikru. But we need your help.”

“What are you rambling about, Sky Girl?” The woman asked impatiently. “What sickness do you speak of?”

“The radiation levels in Earth’s atmosphere are climbing.” Clarke tried to explain rapidly. “As they rise people will start to show symptoms of radiation poisoning. Within months everyone will grow sick and die, unless they take the serum that Skaikru is developing as we speak. But I’ve come to you because we are short of a crucial ingredient for the serum. We need the black powder of Trikru’s warriors.”

The woman only looked more confused at Clarke’s strange request. And with the confusion, her impatience seemed to be growing as well. “You have come here, knowing the penalty for doing so might cost you your lives, to ask us for our warpaint? Why should I believe a word you utter, Sky Girl? Your insolent people have already demonstrated your penchant for lying and deceit. You insult the council with this foolish...”

Suddenly a man burst into the room, panting. “Sorry... For the... Intrusion... Respected... Elders.” He stuttered, struggling to catch his breath.

“What is it, Seeden?” The woman asked. “Has Indra returned?”

“No, Elder Fulna.” The man gasped. “I come... Because the fire... Has been lit.... Azgeda approaches... Boudalan, Sangedakru... And Louwoda Kliron march with them... They will reach... the outskirts of Polis by nightfall!”

“And there is no sign of Indra yet?” The woman asked again.

“No, Elder Fulna.” Seeden repeated. “Indra has yet to return. Nor have any allies been spotted approaching Trikru’s lands. If anyone is coming, I’m afraid they will not arrive in time.”

The woman rose from her chair and silently began pacing the chamber as the three men beside her began shouting suggestions and arguing with one another. 

“How many approach?” Elder Fulna asked Seeden. “How many in Azgeda’s number?”

“I do not have an accurate number to report.” The messenger answered. “But the scouts say hundreds and hundreds. Maybe thousands. One said it is as if a living ocean washes over the land towards us.”

“We must position our warriors around Polis immediately.” One of the elders spoke as Fulna recommenced her pacing.

“No.” Another elder argued. “We let Polis fall and fortify our village walls. We protect our homes and families.”

“Either way Trikru cannot stand alone!” Clarke cut in, shouting to be heard above the bickering old men. The woman stopped her pacing and fixed her glare on Clarke. “Your allies will not arrive in time to help you.” Clarke argued. “Trikru cannot hold Polis and if Azgeda marches on your villages before help arrives they will crumble under Azgeda’s might. Trikru cannot stand alone.” She repeated. She struggled against the man restraining her and took a brazen step towards Fulna. 

“Please, Elder Fulna,” She pleaded. “For the sake of your people and mine, band with Skaikru. Evacuate your villages. Have your warriors fall back to Arkadia. Let us provide refuge for your children and elderly. Azgeda means to march on Trikru before Skaikru. If you fall back to Arkadia, you will gain time and numbers. Together we can defend the walls of Arkadia. Cities can be rebuilt. Villages can be rebuilt. Homes can be rebuilt. Save the lives of your people. Band with Skaikru. We cannot stand alone. We must band together to save both of our peoples. Band with Skaikru.” She pleaded once more as Elder Fulna frowned upon her.


	21. Smooth Riding

21  
Smooth Riding

OCTAVIA

After months of living in the forest, riding onto the plains is almost like stepping into a whole new world, as strange as opening the dropship door and stepping onto the ground for the first time. The plains stretch on for miles and miles in every direction, barren brown and white hills rolling off into the horizon. The trees here are so different from the thick firs I have grown to love. There is only a smattering of them, standing solitary or in clumps of two or three. They are still bare from the passing winter and unlike the green pines that reach upwards like fingers grazing the sky, these trees’ naked branches arch out in all directions, twisting and weaving to form a wide canopy of gnarled and tangled limbs. 

I imagine during the summer the plains must be beautiful, a green and tan sea of grasses rippling beneath an endless blue sheet of sky. But right now the dead grasses are an ugly brown drooping under a dusting of dirty snow. And the sky above is a mottled mix of a thousand shades of gray. It must only be early afternoon but the gray sky already seems to be darkening and off to the West the clouds are an ominous charcoal gray so dark it’s almost black. Even as I watch, the clouds collect, joining ranks like an army coming together. I see distant lightning flash across them and I know we are riding directly into a storm.

The rain starts as a few gentle drops trickling down my cheeks like tears, as if the heavens are softly weeping. But within seconds there is a deafening boom overhead and Helios lets out a frightened whinny as the skies open. The rain falls in relentless sheets and there is no place to seek refuge. The cold seeps right through my clothing and right through my skin and into my very bones. My teeth start to chatter and I lean forward to weave my fingers into Helios’s sopping mane, seeking his warmth.

And then between the deafening bouts of thunder ringing in the sky I hear another kind of thunder... A soft and steady rumble that grows louder with each passing beat of my racing heart. It is the thunder of hooves drawing nearer.

I shoot Indra a concerned look and draw my sword as the group of riders appears over the crest of the nearest hill, cascading down the hillside like a crushing wave. There are at least thirty of them and I cannot understand how Indra seems so calm as they form a wide sweeping circle around us. And now the thundering of their hooves is so overpowering that it drowns out the thunder of the sky above. 

Helios backs nervously towards Cedar as the circle encloses us. And then suddenly the roaring stops and there is only the steady drumming of the rain beating on the thirsty earth. I eye the riders nervously, clutching my sword. But I know my blade will be useless against the thirty spears surrounding us. We are hopelessly outnumbered. And we are trapped. And still Indra does not seem worried.

“Ai Laik Indra kom Trikru.” She calls out, shouting to be heard over the driving rain. “And I seek smooth riding beneath the open sky.”

A single rider breaks rank from the circle, moving towards us in its center. He circles us slowly, appraising, threatening. Like the others, he holds a spear in one hand and I expect to see him clutching reins in the other but suddenly I realize he is riding barebacked. His horse has no reins, no bit, no bridle. Still, it seems he has absolute control over the glossy black beast as he brings him to a stop directly before Indra, close enough that I see Cedar’s nostrils flare in discomfort.

“Why do you cross the great plains, Indra kom Trikru?” The man asks. Water collects along the rim of his wide-brimmed hat and trickles in a small steady stream down the back of his long leather duster. A red-checked bandanna covers the lower half of his face, concealing his lips as he speaks. 

“I come...” Indra answers confidently. “To call upon the longstanding friendship between Trikru and Ingranrona. Azgeda marches upon the forests of Trikru with Boudelan and Sangedakru at their sides. Sand, Stone, and Ice descend upon us. Will the honorable Riders of the Plains ride beside us as we make our stand? I come as a trusted ally and an old friend to speak with Chief Rider Rashanna kon Ingranrona.”

“Very well.” The man says with a nod that sends a curtain of water cascading from his hat. “Your request for smooth riding has been granted. I shall escort you to Chief Rider Rashanna, if your ponies can keep stride with our steeds.” He finishes with a friendly laugh. “Ha!” The man hollers and the circle unravels around us as the riders move out in unison and I follow Indra in their wake.

 

The thick raindrops pelt my face as we gallop, but the storm at last seems to be passing and by the time the group slows to an easy trot the rain has petered into a soft drizzle. The black clouds above have given way to gray once more. A weak sun tries valiantly to peek through small patches of blue in the mass of rolling clouds. 

As we ride, the Ingrarona warriors break off in groups of four or five at a time and I realize they must be scouting parties returning to their positions on the borders of the plains. Our number continues to shrink as we ride along the edges of rusty barbed wire fences held together by crooked, molding fence posts. Long-horned cattle roam lazily within the fenceline along with some massive, shaggy, ferocious looking beasts that Indra calls the “gentle buffalo.” Now and again we pass a lonely homestead, large houses standing beside larger barns and stables. The buildings seem to be built from a combination of wood and bricks made of packed mud and straw and the weak afternoon sun glints off of tin roofs as we pass them.

There are only eight left in our number by the time we slow to a walk and enter what can only be described as a town. We ride down a broken, potholed street lined with shops and businesses. The street is alive with meandering Grounders going about their business, some riding horses, others walking on foot, everyone clad in long layers of dark leathers. The man who still has not properly introduced himself to us stops outside a rustic building with an old wooden sign dangling half off its hinges that reads “Old Red’s Saloon: Nebraska’s Strongest Whiskey and Finest Ladies South of Lincoln.”

My stomach flips at the name and I wonder where the fuck I could possibly go to escape the memories, when even here they find me.

“Wait here.” The man instructs us. He leaps gracefully off of his horse and enters the building, not bothering to tether his horse. The beast waits patiently beside us. As we wait, I turn my eyes to the busy street around us. I watch a blacksmith pounding a red-hot horseshoe with a massive hammer. The walls of his shop are lined with other horseshoes, strange farming equipment that looks more like weapons than tools, cattle brands, and spear heads.

The door of the shop beside his swings open with the delicate chiming of a bell and my mouth waters as the yeasty scent of warm bread drifts through the air. A woman emerges clinging to a boy with one hand and a long loaf of crusty bread in the other. Her wandering gaze falls on me and as she stares curiously, the boy seizes the opportunity to rip a large hunk from the end of the loaf. He laughs and dodges her angry swat, grinning as he tears into his prize.

“You may enter now.” I startle at the sound of the man’s voice beside me. “Chief Rider Rashanna has agreed to speak with you.” 

I carefully dismount, landing gingerly on my good leg and help Indra secure the horses before following her inside.

The inside is nothing at all what I expected. As dilapidated as the building’s front was, the inside is pristine, elegant, yet homely. The walls are lined with velvety sofas and cushy leather armchairs. Rustic lanterns dangle from the high, lofty ceiling, casting a soft glow that dissipates into the corners. The creaky wooden floor is lined here and there with speckled white, brown, and black cowhides and various horned skulls protrude from the walls. 

But the most impressive part of the room is its center. What used to be a bar has been painted with a gorgeous mural of wild mustangs running through green grasses beneath a swirling blue-gray sky. The shelves I imagine were once lined with bottles of whiskey and bourbon now house rows of books elegantly bound in leather. And hanging above it all is a gigantic chandelier fashioned from antlers, with dozens of candles flickering at its tips.

I’m so busy taking in the stunning room that I barely notice the middle-aged woman who moves forward to greet us. 

“Indra kom Trikru!” She exclaims with a grin. She has skin a hare darker than Indra’s and her brown eyes are so dark they are nearly black. But the light glints warmly in them. 

“Rashanna kom Ingranrona.” Indra extends her arm for the customary greeting.

Rashanna bypasses the arm and instead envelopes Indra in a tight hug. I’m not sure I’ve ever witnessed anyone try to give Indra a hug before and I almost laugh at how awkwardly she stands, her back rigid, her arms tentatively patting Rashanna’s back as if unsure of what else to do. 

“It has been too many rides since our last meeting, my friend.” The woman speaks as she finally releases a relieved Indra. “I only wish the circumstances of our meeting were happier. But alas, I have seen the dark clouds gathering on the horizon. A storm is brewing. And the Riders of the Plains are no strangers to the thunder. Come... Let us sit like old women and speak of the weather.”

She hands us each a glass of brown liquor and gestures towards a small table in the corner of the room surrounded by cushy chairs. Whatever potent liquor she has given us, its fumes alone are strong enough to sting the back of my throat and bring tears to my eyes. I take a brave sip and cough at the fire in my throat. This liquor could even have Jasper under the table in no time. I set the glass down politely on the table and sit as straight as I can, feeling very much like the third wheel in this reunion of old friends.

“Ice Nation gathers their forces as we speak.” Indra begins. “Like us, they seek allies, and they have already found them in Boudalan and Sangedakru. Whether other clans have added to their numbers I cannot say.”

 

I find my mind drifting as the women speak. My cushy chair wants to swallow me in its overstuffed arms, and I can barely resist the urge to close my eyes and curl up into comfy oblivion. I struggle to keep my eyes open and focused, but they wander through the wide window beside me to the outside world beyond the glass. The saloon backs up to open plains stretching on for miles with bluish-gray mountains looming in the distance. But before the fields give way to wild open space, there is a large, fenced paddock. I spot the man who escorted us standing in its center, struggling to restrain a young colt. The colt lets out a piercing whinny and bucks wildly and the man loses his footing in the mud and falls dejectedly on his ass. I cannot stop the laugh that escapes me as I watch the man rise and wipe angrily at the mud and manure dripping down his leather chaps. 

I hear a deep throat clear and turn to see Indra fixing me with a stern glare. “Perhaps you should wait outside, Octavia.” Indra suggests even as I am wracking my brains for a polite way to excuse myself. I look to Rashanna and nod my head in the direction of the paddock. “May I?” 

“Of course.” She answers. “I daresay Roddek could use a hand out there.”

I step out the back door and lean against the rickety fence encircling the paddock, watching as Roddek chases the colt through the mud. He catches me laughing and plods towards me with a frustrated frown, mumbling curses under his breath. He leans on the fence beside me and turns to gaze at the colt with a sigh. The horse is now standing perfectly calm looking innocent and bored. 

“Damn colt is a pain in my ass.” Roddek tells me. “I’ve been wrangling horses since I was old enough to climb into a saddle on my own. Folks round here call me the ‘Gapachicha’ because they say I can speak horse-tongue. Broken a hundred mustangs if I’ve ever broken one. And never once have I come across a horse this stubborn.”

“What’s his name?” I ask.

“The Chief Rider calls him ‘Lil’ Chief.’” He answers. “But I usually just call him ‘Lil’ Shit.’ Doesn’t matter none ‘cause he don’t answer to neither.” 

I let out a snort of laughter. “‘Little Shit’ is my horse’s name too!” I say. “Well... Technically it’s Helios, but more often than not... How old is he?”

“Going on three years.” Roddek answers. “His mother died birthing him and we nearly lost him along with her. But luckily Shulley’s mare had just given birth days before and he provided us with milk. Lil’ Shit’s mother was a fine specimen of a mustang. I roped her myself. Black as midnight. Powerful. Agile. And, once I broke her in a bit, even-tempered to boot. She quickly became the Chief Rider’s preferred horse and I think it’s only for her sake that she’s kept Lil’ Shit around this long. He’s stubborn, mean, and downright ornery. There is anger deep within him.”

I gaze at the beautiful young horse. His black hide is splotched here and there with blobs of gray and white. A line cuts almost directly down the midline of his face so that the left side is black as night and the right is the soft white-gray of ash. I look into the giant brown orbs of his eyes. And I think to myself that Roddek has this horse all wrong. It is not anger that I see in those glassy eyes. It is loneliness.

“He looks more lonely than angry.” I say.

Roddek turns his eyes on me and silently studies me for a moment. His gaze is piercing, as if he can see deeper than my skin or bones and it makes me extremely uncomfortable.

“Loneliness...” He says finally. “Anger... They’re usually a package deal, kid.”

I furrow my brows in confusion and I get the feeling that he’s speaking about more than just the horse. I have no reply.

“Still, it’s the anger that usually rears its ugly head more often than anything else. I’ve been working on saddling him for weeks now.” Roddek continues. “He bites and kicks and bucks like a sonofabitch. The Chief Rider finally agreed to let me sell him as soon as I can find a buyer stupid enough to make an offer.”

“What are you asking for him?” I ask, because I cannot pull my gaze from those lonely eyes. And now I am thinking of another pair of lonely eyes. And I imagine those hazel eyes widening with excitement and wonder at the sight of this young horse.

“Are you making an offer?” Roddek asks with a laugh, turning towards me with his eyebrows cocked.

“I have nothing to offer.” I sigh sadly. “If I did, I’d be stupid enough to take him. I know a sad, lonely little girl who might just be the friend he needs.”

Roddek stares at me again, wiggling his jaw in thought, wiping his muddy hands against his trousers. He lifts an arm and drops one massive hand onto my shoulder. The weight of it reminds me of Lincoln, but the grip still feels all wrong. 

“Tell you what, kid.” He says. “You get a saddle on the little shit and I’ll let you take him off my hands.” 

 

***

 

I’m a hot mess of mud and frustration by the time I finally secure the bit in the colt’s mouth. My finger is smarting where he bit into it. Blood leaks from its tip and mingles with the muck in my palm, so that I can’t even suck properly at my wound without getting a tongueful of dirt and manure. I yank his head down with the reins and clamp my teeth around the tip of his ear, hard. 

“That’s right, Lil’ Shit.” I mumble into it. “Ai laik Octavia kom Trikru and I’m in charge now.” 

In reply, he throws his head back and snorts imperiously, splattering my face with globs of mucus. Cursing the little shit, I wipe at my face with the cleanest section I can find on my muddy hand and rub the mess across my equally muddy ass. Then I tug on his reins, meaning to lead him victoriously over to Roddek. The man has been watching me struggle for the last twenty minutes, laughing obnoxiously each time I slipped clumsily on my good-for-nothing casted leg and shouting out useless tips and bits of advice. I put on my smuggest smirk and turn towards him only to see Indra and Rashanna standing there instead. I blush as I wonder how long these powerful women have been watching me flail in the mud. 

The way Indra eyes me up and down as I approach makes me wonder just how pitiful I look with my bum leg and muddy everything. She doesn’t say anything, but I can tell she is holding back the laughter. She turns her raised brows on the colt.

“He’s coming with us.” I say, and with my lingering frustration, it comes out a whole lot more like telling than asking. “OK?” I add, trying to tone down my sass.

Indra just shrugs. “Don’t let him slow us down.”

I nod and feel the tiniest of smiles tugging at the corners of my lips.

“Take good care of Lil’ Chief for me, Octavia kom Trikru.” Rashanna smiles at me. She confidently strolls up to the colt and reaches out to stroke his neck, but he whinnies and rears up and suddenly Rashanna’s ass is just as muddy as mine. Rashanna just laughs as she sits in the muck, accepting Indra’s extended hand. But before Indra can pull her to her feet, Rashanna gives Indra’s forearm a sharp tug and Indra sprawls, face-first into the mud beside her. 

Eyes wide with disbelief, I watch Indra push herself onto her hands and knees, holding my breath, wondering what will happen next. Indra scoops one palm through the muck and slaps the mess across the front of Rashanna’s coat, then bursts into a fit of laughter. Her laughs are deep, guttural, full and alive, the kind that erupt from the belly and wrack your entire body until your side aches and your lungs burn and the tears spill from your eyes. The laughter that brings breathlessness and the best kind of pain. 

I have never heard Indra laugh so freely. I have never seen her grin the way she does when Rashanna lets out a gasp and peers down at her mud-strewn chest in mock appall and gives Indra a hard shove to the shoulder. And I watch the woman I respect more than anyone else in this world playing in the mud like a child and suddenly I feel the laughter building deep in my own tummy. It bubbles and churns within me, begging for release, and I can’t hold it back. The laughter rushes out of me. And I welcome it.

“What are YOU laughing at?” Indra scolds me as I dodge the clump of mud she launches at my chest.

“Missed!” I tease, but even as the word crosses my lips, a cold, wet clump splatters across my cheek. I turn my glare to Rashanna as I claw the mess from my face. She shrugs at me with a mischievous smirk, wagging her thumb back and forth between herself and Indra. “Forever allies.” She says simply and raises her eyebrows as if challenging me to retaliate.

“Forever friends.” Indra says. And the giggles have stopped, but the soft smile on her face looks like it belongs there and is meant to stay forever. She heaves herself out of the muck and again extends an arm to Rashanna. Rashanna eyes the hand warily, apparently still expecting Indra’s retribution, but when she accepts it Indra pulls her gently to her feet. They lock muddy forearms.

“I will see you soon, old friend.” Rashanna smiles. “Smooth riding... Until we reach the Great Horizon.” 

“Until we reach the Great Horizon.” Indra echoes her. Rashanna pulls Indra into another tight embrace and this time, when Indra hugs her back, it almost looks natural. Almost.

Rashanna releases Indra and turns her kind smile to me. “Smooth riding, Octavia kom Trikru.”

“Smooth Riding, Chief Rashanna kom Ingrarona.” I smile back at her. 

“Octavia kom Trikru!” I hear a voice call as I follow Indra around the side of the building, practically dragging the stubborn colt by his reins. I glance back to see Roddek emerge from the back of the saloon wearing dry clothes and a smirk. “If you ever come back to the Plains, I’ll make a mustang wrangler out of you.” He laughs. 

I roll my eyes at him, but I cannot fight my smile. “Smooth riding, Roddek kom Ingrarona.”

“Smooth riding, kid.” I hear him call after me.

 

Helios eyes the colt dubiously as we approach. “Congratulations!” I tell him with a pat that leaves a brown hand print on his rump “You just officially graduated to ‘Big Shit!’ Big Shit... Meet Lil’ Shit.”

Helios snorts and paws at the ground in disapproval as I secure the end of Lil’ Chief’s reins to his saddle horn so we can lead the colt as we ride.

“Don’t worry, Big Shit.” I whisper. “I’ll always love you best.”

 

“Chief Rashanna has pledged Trikru the service of her steed and her spear.” Indra informs me as we slowly guide our horses down the busy street. “She will ride for our forest the day after tomorrow, leading one hundred eighty riders.”

“One hundred twenty Trishana.” I mumble, doing the math. “One hundred eighty Ingrarona... That makes three hundred, Indra... Three hundred.”

Indra hears the uncertainty in my voice. “Three hundred fierce and loyal warriors.” She assures me. But she misunderstood my worry.

“Three hundred, Indra.” I repeat. “Three hundred Trikru warriors died in the attack on the dropship. Three hundred in Pike’s massacre... I’m starting to think three hundred is not Trikru’s lucky number.”

Indra glances at me thoughtfully, but she doesn’t seem concerned. “I thought Skaikru didn’t put much stock in superstition.”

“I’m not Skaikru.” I fire at her.

“Aye.” She smiles, giving Cedar a kick as we break free of the town and into open plain. “You’re not.”


	22. Mud and Ash

22  
Mud and Ash

OCTAVIA

 

“Something’s not right.” Indra whispers as the firs start to thicken around us. I take a deep, easy breath, gulping in the forest air, feeling the greatest sense of “being home” that I’ve felt since Lincoln’s arms last enveloped me. “A scout should have greeted us by now. They were instructed to keep watch for our return.”

“Maybe no one has spotted us yet.” I try to ease her worry. “We are riding under the cover of darkness, after all.”

But within minutes I know Indra is right. Something is wrong, terribly wrong. Flames flicker in the distance and even in the darkness I can see the black silhouette of smoke billowing into the night sky ahead. The acrid scent of burning wood fills my nose and stings my eyes. I usually enjoy the smell of fire. It makes me think of warmth and safety and the promise of a hot meal. But this fire smells different. It smells like destruction. It smells like death. And the stench makes my stomach churn because the smoke is coming from the direction of Ton DC.

 

“We’re too late.” I whisper into the silence. “We’re too late.”

The words leave my own lips and they fall on my own ears and still I cannot believe them. I give Helios a sharp kick and I race through the shadows as fast as he will carry me. I know Lil’ Chief is struggling to keep pace behind us, but I cannot slow down. I cannot slow down. 

 

I am on my hands and knees in the heart of the village when I feel the soft weight of Indra’s palm against my shoulder. As though they had been waiting for it, at her touch the tears finally break free of my lashes. They roll relentlessly down my cheeks, carving rivulets through the caked mud, one after another. And I am powerless to stop them. I try to push myself up out of the mud and the ash. But I am powerless to rise. I am powerless.

I expect Indra to pull me up. I expect her to put me on my feet. I expect her to set her jaw and tell me that a warrior does not mourn the ones she’s lost until the war is over.

But Indra just falls to her knees beside me. And I see tears rolling hot and wet down her own cheeks. And I know that she is powerless to stop them. And she is powerless to rise. And she is powerless.

Her hand slips from my shoulder and her fingernails claw into the dirt and ash and she lets out a violent cry that is more animal than human. And I recognize the notes in it because I have uttered that very same cry. It is a cry of despair and pain and rage and all-consuming grief. It is the cry of the broken. It is the cry of the powerless.

And I think of my dream and I think of Lincoln and I think of lonely hazel eyes. And I open my own mouth to let out my own cry. But just like in the nightmare, only silence escapes me. 

I find Indra’s hand and I grasp it in my own and we fall against each other. And for one moment we stop playing the game. For one moment we stop pretending to be fearless and strong. For one moment we stop trying to hide the pain. And we allow ourselves to hurt. 

 

The moment lasts an eternity. The moment is utterly too brief. Somehow we find the strength to rise. And I find my voice for the first time since I entered the village. 

“Where are the bodies, Indra?” I ask, the hairs on my neck rising as I gaze around the empty, smoldering village. “What have they done with the bodies?”

Indra doesn’t answer and I’m not sure if it is because she does not have the answer or if she simply cannot muster the courage to utter the words. I’ve never seen her look so broken before. I’ve never seen her look so lost. And her face is as haunting as the silence around us. 

“Come on.” I say gently, pulling her by the fingertips. She doesn’t resist, but she looks completely dazed as she climbs into Cedar’s saddle and I’m worried that maybe she is going into shock. She doesn’t ask me where we are going as I guide us through the trees the way I’ve gone a thousand times before. 

We were too late for Trikru. But maybe... Just maybe... We aren’t too late for Arkadia.

 

I hear a rustling in the underbrush as we weave slowly through the dappled moonlight and I draw my sword, swiveling in my saddle. We are being followed. I scan the black forest for a face smudged in white and already I feel the anger rising. But the anger rushes out of me along with my gasp of surprise. Because the face that peeks at me through the trees is smudged in brown, not white. And from beneath the dark mess of tangled braids, wide eyes look up at me, as much a mixture of fear and loneliness as they are of mossy green and honey brown. 

“Eevie!” I cry out as I sheathe my sword and leap from my saddle, still struggling to believe my own eyes. She must not have been in the village during the attack. She looks like she is about to run off into the forest again and I drop to my knees quickly and hold out a hand as I call to her once more.

“It’s OK, Eevie.” I say softly. “I have someone I want you to meet...” I nod my head in the direction of the colt and I watch as the light enters her hazel eyes, eclipsing the fear. 

“Come.” I whisper and she finally takes my hand and lets me lead her to the colt. As I approach him, Lil’ Chief whinnies uneasily and paws at the ground and I freeze, afraid that he might buck. But Eevie releases my hand and there is no fear in her eyes as she walks calmly right up to the horse. And I watch in wonder as she holds out her tiny hand and the colt sniffs at it and then nuzzles into it. She rubs his cheeks and strokes his neck and combs her fingers through his tangled mane and at her touch he closes his large brown eyes and stands calmly, still, without so much as a flick of his tail. And when he opens his eyes again, I look into the glassy orbs and I search, but I cannot find the loneliness.

I approach them cautiously and, with Eevie by his side, the colt tolerates my presence. “This is Lil’ Chief.” I whisper to her. “And I think he’s lonely. You see... He has no family. And he could sure use a friend.” I pause to kneel before the little girl so that our faces are level. “Will you be his friend?”

She gives me a small nod and I look into her hazel eyes and I search, but I cannot find the loneliness.

 

I lift the girl’s tiny frame into the air and set her gently in her saddle. I guide her feet into the stirrups and though she is too small for the saddle and too short for the stirrups, she straightens herself as much as she possibly can. And she sits tall and proud on her young steed. Indra nods at me as I climb into my own saddle. She looks sadly at the girl and I watch as she sets her own jaw and straightens in her own saddle until she too, sits tall and proud. And I set my own jaw. And I straighten myself as best as I can as I lead all that is left of Trikru through the shadows of the silent forest. 

 

*** 

 

I sense him before I see him, and my sword is already drawn by the time his face appears out of the darkness between the trees. Black warpaint is smudged diagonally across his sharp brow, the bridge of his nose, the swell of his cheek. The breath that escapes me is something between a sigh and a gasp, as much shock as it is relief. This warrior is Trikru. And this warrior is breathing. And this warrior stands before us on the outskirts of Arkadia. And my mind is struggling to make sense of what my eyes are shouting at it.

“Indra kom Trikru!” The man greets us, excitedly. “You have returned!”

Indra looks as startled and confused as I am by this man’s sudden emergence from the shadows.

“Montun?” Is all she can manage.

“Do you bring Trikru good news?” The man asks as all around him more faces divide the spaces between the trees, all smudged in black, all blinking up at us, holding their breaths, waiting for Indra to find her voice.


	23. Side Effects

23  
Side Effects

CLARKE

“Welcome back, Mr. Bauer.” Clarke cringed at the sound of ALIE’s overly cheerful greeting.

“You haven’t reprogrammed the damn door yet?” She called out as she entered the room.

Raven pulled her head out of a fume hood and glared at Clarke, her coffee brown eyes magnified absurdly by her ridiculous safety goggles. “I’ve been a little busy, Clarke.”

Clarke just grinned as she held out her giant jugs of ethanol and NaOH, victoriously. “I come bearing gifts.”

“Good work.” Raven said, peeling off her latex gloves and setting them aside. 

“It gets better.” Clarke added as the old woman sauntered through the open door behind her. “This is Elder Fulna kom Trikru.” Clarke introduced her. “Elder Fulna, this is Raven kom Skaikru, and that, over there...” She said, pointing to a sleeping Abby slumped in a chair in the corner of the lab, a bit of drool dangling from the corner of her open mouth. “Is my mother, Dr. Abby kom Skaikru.”

“Nice to meet you.” Raven smiled, politely extending a hand. 

Instead of grasping it, the old woman shoved a large tin container into it. “If you need more, we can get more. We trade with Podakru for it.”

Raven pried the lid back to reveal a huge mound of glistening jet-black powder. Her giant eyes lit up behind her goggles. “Thank you!” She exclaimed, looking so elated that for a second Clarke thought she might try to hug the old woman. But when the woman just stared at her, Raven seemed to think better of it.

“Tell me about this ‘cure’ you are making, Raven kom Skaikru.” Fulna demanded.

“I can do better than tell you about it!” Raven grinned. “I can show you it. You’re just in time... The first batch is ready.”

 

*** 

 

“Are you SURE you want to do this?” Abby asked for the third time. “Shouldn’t we test it first?”

“Test it on what?” Clarke replied. “I don’t see any rats or monkeys around here, do you?”

“We could test it on Murphy.” Raven suggested a bit too eagerly.

“What... So he can blame ME when his dick falls off?” Clarke gave a dry laugh. “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t have to be the first one.” Abby argued, yet again.

“Yes, I do.” Clarke told her once again. “This whole thing was my idea. I should be the first to take it. I’m not going to watch someone else go blind because of my crazy idea. Besides... Raven made it and I trust Raven.”

Raven gave Clarke an appreciative half-smile, but Clarke could see the nervous uncertainty she tried to conceal behind it.

“I made some modifications of my own in addition to Becca’s.” Raven told her. “Blindness shouldn’t be an issue. But there may be some... immediate reactions to the serum.”

“What kind of reactions?”

“Umm... I’m not exactly sure.” Raven admitted. “You see... Like you, Becca chose to test the serum on herself. And she was so secretive about her work that she made the dangerous... And plain stupid, if you ask me... Decision to inject herself with the serum without any assistants or witnesses present. So... Her notes just say that she woke up on the floor of the lab... Uhh... Covered in vomit.”

“Great.” Clarke muttered. “Well I guess it’s a good thing I have a doctor supervising this then, huh?”

“You’re still SURE you want to do this?” Abby asked yet again and Clarke felt her eyes roll.

“Of course I am, Mom.” She shot a brave smile at Raven as she extended her arm. “I’m a stubborn woman on a mission, right Raven?”

Raven could have told Clarke that there was a one-in-four chance of dying or of developing a third breast or of sprouting facial hair. None of it mattered. Nothing was going to stop Clarke from taking this serum.

“OK, Clarke.” More fearful than Clarke herself, Abby took a deep breath and bit her lip as she pressed the tip of the loaded injector contraption to the exposed vein in the crook of Clarke’s elbow. “Here goes...”

Clarke squeezed her eyes shut, scrunched her face, and braced for the worst. But all she felt was the quick bite of the needle as it pierced her skin. Compared to the full blood transfusion she had undergone with Ontari, this was nothing. Raven and Abby peered down at her, monitoring her with wide, worried eyes.

But Clarke just shrugged. “I barely felt a...”

A sudden wave of absolute, unadulterated pain shot through her entire body like electricity and every muscle went tense at once. 

“This is normal.” She heard Raven insist as her body went limp and then immediately tensed again.

“Are you sure this is normal, Raven?” Her mother’s frantic voice drifted to her from a long ways away.

“I think this is normal... Uhhh... OK, Maybe this isn’t normal.” 

It sounded to Clarke like Raven was underwater. But then she realized that Raven wasn’t the one underwater... She was. She was drowning again. And again she wished she could swim. And her last thoughts were of Lexa before the dark waters closed in all around her.

 

***

 

Clarke was laying on a ridiculously soft sofa, sinking into the cushions like water. There was a horrible acidic taste in her mouth and she had no clue where she was or how she had come to be here. She opened her eyes to bright artificial light and pushed her way out of the cushiony depths of the sofa to find herself in a fancy room obscenely decorated with more ornate sofas and armchairs and a cashmere rug. 

“Abby! Abby!” Raven crowed from her perch on the edge of a coffee table across the room. “She’s awake!”

Suddenly both women were hovered over her, breathing down on her with wrinkled brows and gigantic, concerned eyes. 

Abby placed a sweaty palm against Clarke’s forehead. “How do you feel, Honey?”

“I’m fine.” Clarke answered, trying to wriggle out from under her mother’s hand, feeling very trapped by the worried women. She squeezed between them and pushed herself to her feet. “I feel great.”

It was true. Besides having the horrid taste in her mouth, Clarke was in tip-top shape. She felt great. Absolutely, fucking, great. She felt like she had just slept fifteen hours. She felt like she had just emerged from a long dip in a hot tub after receiving a full-body massage. Her muscles felt strong and limber and almost itched to be used. For the first time in her life she had the strange, sudden urge to go for a run or maybe just drop to the floor and pump out some crunches.

“I feel really... Really... Great.” She said with a smile. “Why are you two looking at me like you think I should be strapped up to a ventilator right now? What happened?”

Raven and Abby exchanged an uncomfortable look.

“How much do you remember, Honey?” Abby asked, her voice nervous and overly soft.

“I remember...” Clarke paused, struggling to pull something... anything... from the blank space in her mind. “Uhh... I remember...”

“You don’t remember any of it, do you?” Raven interrupted.

“I remember you saying, ‘OK, Clarke... Here goes.’ And I remember the prick of the needle. But after that... I’ve got nothing. What happened?” She asked again.

“Well...” Raven began, licking her lips nervously. “First you started convulsing. You went rigid and then limp and then rigid again.”

“And just when we thought you were going into septic shock,” Abby cut in. “You stopped convulsing and stood up, seemingly fine. Except that you weren’t... Entirely lucid.”

“What did I say?” Clarke frowned, nervously glancing from one extremely uncomfortable woman to the other.

“Uhhh...” Raven stalled. “Well... First you thought I was ALIE. And you started strangling me and Abby tried to pull you off of me, but... You’re freakishly strong, Clarke.”

“What?” Clarke laughed. “No way... You guys are messing with me, right? I don’t believe you for a second.”

“Oh... Wait for it... It gets better.” Abby sighed, not joining in on Clarke’s laughter.

“You knocked me down.” Raven continued. “Climbed on top of me and pinned me to the floor. And I was screaming for Abby to pull you off of me... But then, as suddenly as you had started, you stopped strangling me. And instead... You... Uh...” Raven paused, massaging the back of her neck awkwardly.

“What?” Clarke asked, not sure whether to laugh or go find a brown paper bag to hide her face under.

“You kissed me.” Raven finally answered. “Like full-on KISSED me, kissed me.”

“What?” Clarke laughed again. It was absurd. “Who came up with this story? You guys are ridiculous.”

Raven and Abby just stared at her and Clarke felt her grin falter at the corners. She pressed her lips together, pulled them between her teeth. They had to be messing with her. They had to be.

“Then you asked me to teach you how to swim.” Raven continued and Clarke felt her tummy bottom out as the heat flooded her cheeks. The only people she had ever talked about swimming with were Emori... And Lexa.

“You insisted that I teach you how to swim IMMEDIATELY.” Raven continued. Because apparently the story just got better and better and Clarke wasn’t mortified enough just yet. “And you started pulling your shirt off and when I grabbed your hands to stop you, you tried to kiss me again. But before you could, you vomited all over me instead.”

“Oh gosh...” Clarke mumbled. Her cheeks were on fire now. She didn’t know if she should apologize or not, but Raven still wasn’t done yet.

“And then you dramatically whispered ‘May we meet again.’ and promptly passed out on top of me.” Raven finally finished. “That was three hours ago.”

There was a moment of awkward, embarrassed silence, like the kind that follows an unexpected fart that everyone heard but no one wants to acknowledge.

“Uhhh...” Clarke grimaced at Raven. “I guess I owe you an apology. Or two. Or three. Lets see... Sorry for attacking you and trying to strangle you. Sorry for kissing you. And definitely sorry for puking all over you.”

“Yeah...” Raven mumbled. “That’s OK... I forgive you. Just don’t mention it... Like, EVER.” She laughed to break the tension and Clarke smiled back at her gratefully. 

“No problem.”

“But you feel OK, now?” Abby asked again. “You don’t feel weak or nauseated?”

“No... I feel fantastic. Better than fantastic!” She paused, thoughtfully. “What’s better than fantastic?”

“Fucking fantastic?” Raven suggested. “I mean...” She glanced at Abby. “FLIPPING fantastic?” 

“I feel fantastic!” Clarke grinned. “FLIPPING fantastic.”

 

*** 

 

Clarke still felt flipping fantastic as she returned to the lab to snag her sack and prepare to head back to Arkadia. She felt so good that not even ALIE’s “Welcome back, Mr. Bauer,” or the prospect of having to figure out what to do about Azgeda, could kill her buzz. She threw her sack over her shoulder and was about to leave when Raven suddenly snagged her by the wrist and pulled her into the corner. 

“I have to talk to you about something before you go... Something serious.” She said cryptically, glancing around the lab as if inspecting it for spies. Abby was across the room measuring mounds of pyrolusite and barking instructions at Monty and Jackson who followed her around obediently like good little worker elves. There was no way any of them were listening, but still, Raven pulled Clarke into the empty hallway.

Raven looked so sober and was acting so strange that Clarke was suddenly tempted to laugh. She was starting to wonder if maybe there was some kind of opiate in the Nightserum, because despite Raven’s seriousness, Clarke felt downright giddy.

“What the hell’s up with you, Raven?” Clarke laughed.

“I need to talk to you about something serious.” Raven told her for the second time. “I...”

“Actually...” Clarke interrupted her. She already knew she was being stupid, but she couldn’t stop herself. She was so giddy, she almost felt drunk. “I have something really important to ask you too. I wanna go first!”

Raven just frowned at her, confused. 

“Am I a good kisser?” Clarke asked, putting on her most somber, inquisitive visage. But she could only maintain it for a second before the giggles rushed out of her at the look on Raven’s confused, surprised, and completely flustered face.

“I told you to never mention that again.” Raven scolded her. “But I suppose the answer is yes.” She admitted. “Better than Finn or Bellamy or Wick, anyways.”

Clarke’s enormous, cocky grin faltered as her lips parted in surprise. “Bellamy? What? When did you kiss Bellamy?”

Raven didn’t answer right away. She looked even more flustered now and resumed awkwardly massaging her neck. But this time the crimson was spreading in HER cheeks, not Clarke’s. “Uhh... It was a long time ago.” She finally mumbled.

“I think I need to hear more about this!” Clarke teased, wiggling her eyebrows with a crooked smirk. 

“There’s nothing to tell.” Raven said quickly, avoiding Clarke’s gaze. “I was upset about Finn. And it only happened the one time. And... You know what?” She paused, glowering at Clarke’s teasing smirk. “We’re not talking about this right now. I really do have something important to say.”

“OK... I’m sorry.” Clarke said, trying to hold back the giggles. “Go ahead... What did you need to tell me?”

Raven’s frown softened. She grew serious again, but there was a tenderness in her expression that immediately made Clarke uneasy. Clarke wiped her stupid grin away as she nervously waited for Raven to finally spit out whatever it was that was eating away at her.

“I need you to promise me...” Raven started. “That you’ll wait for the third injection.”

“What?” Clarke asked, completely confused.

“Wait until you’ve received all three doses. Let me run some tests to make sure everything went to plan. Your body could still reject the serum. We need to know for certain that you are actually a Nightblood first. We need to make sure it’s safe.”

“Safe to do what?” Clarke asked. But she already knew the answer. She knew exactly what Raven was talking about. And, judging by the look on her face, Raven knew that she knew. There was no point playing dumb with Raven. 

“God, Raven,” Clarke sighed. “You really DON’T miss anything, do you? How long have you known?”

“Since the beginning.” Raven chuckled. “The moment you first suggested the possibility of becoming a Nightblood and started going off about Becca and your theories about her blood and I could tell you had already given the idea a lot of thought. And you instantly transformed from Ms. ‘I’m gonna sit on my drunk ass while the world dies around me,’ Clarke to Ms. ‘I’m not letting any man, sea monster, or potential paralysis stand in my way, I’m a stubborn woman on a mission,’ Clarke... You lied to Luna about the flame. And you carry it around with you everywhere you go and you take it out when you think no one is looking, just so you can hold it in your hands...”

Clarke was the one blushing again, but Raven wasn’t finished yet. 

“I swear you spend more time in your memories with her than you do here in the real world with us. And...” She paused timidly for just a moment before pressing on. “I felt it... I felt it in your kiss... Nothing is going to stop you from trying to get back to her.”

“You felt it in my kiss?” Clarke murmured, embarrassed.

“Truth be told, it was a damn good kiss.” Raven laughed to break the tension, but Clarke saw a tinge of sadness in her smile. “No one’s ever kissed me like that before.” She admitted in a small voice. “Like my lips were the only thing keeping them from drowning or from bursting into a million pieces. Like there was a desperate hunger inside of them that only I could fill. It’s the way I always wished Finn would kiss me. And I can’t blame you for wanting to get back to her. Not if she kisses you at all like the way you kissed me.”

“Oh... You have no idea, Raven.” Clarke smiled shyly.

“I’ll help you get back to her, Clarke.” Raven said. “I promise. But you have to promise me that you’ll wait. Let me make sure that we do it right.”

“OK, Raven... I promise.” Clarke said, meeting her intense eyes. They were their normal size again but the goggles had left angry red lines across her forehead and cheeks and the bridge of her nose, and the nerdiness of it all made Clarke suddenly ache with affection for this girl who was a better friend to her than she could have ever deserved. And she wanted to thank Raven for everything... For her understanding and her forgiveness, her support and her kindness, her loyalty and her unconditional friendship. For helping her find herself again. For helping her piece herself back together. For making her laugh when all she wanted to do was cry. For just being there to help her carry the pain. 

And she wanted to tell her that she was so much more than a friend... She was family. But Clarke didn’t know how to say any of it, because her gratitude and love for her friend was like a fierce burning in her chest. A terrible... Beautiful ache. And no words were powerful enough to explain that. 

So she just pulled Raven into a tight hug. “Thank you, Raven.” She whispered. “Thank you for... Just... Thank you.” And Clarke could only hope that she understood the depths of her words.

They pulled out of the hug and Raven just ran her fingers through her ponytail and shrugged and rubbed the tip of her boot against the cold, white linoleum. “Of course.” She mumbled. And Clarke knew that she understood, because Raven never missed a thing. 

“You won’t tell my mom?” Clarke asked. 

“No.” Raven answered with a small smirk and, just like that, she snapped right back into the confident, sassy girl Clarke loved. “I can keep a secret. In fact... You’re not the only one here with a secret agenda, Griffin.” She raised a brow and her smirk grew into a full-blown mischievous grin as Clarke eyed her, warily. 

“I found my own special journal in Chris’s stack.” She continued, and now her grin was impossibly wide and the glint in her eyes was so maniacal that Clarke was starting to wonder if maybe Raven had helped herself to some of whatever opiate she had put in the Nightserum. 

“As soon as we’re done saving the world again,” Raven proclaimed. “I’m getting out of this fucking brace.”


	24. Breathing

24  
Breathing

OCTAVIA

I slump in my saddle as the black gates of Arkadia take form in the darkness. I can’t remember ever feeling this exhausted, this worn. The emotional upheaval of this night has left me more drained than any physical whipping I have ever taken. I’ve had my skin torn open. I’ve had joints twisted and snapped. I’ve had bones shattered. None of it compares to the beating my heart just took.

You would think the utter relief of discovering that your people, your family, everyone you care about... everyone you thought you had lost... Are actually alive and well, would fill me with bubbling joy and uncontainable happiness. And I am relieved... So relieved. But more than anything else, I am tired... So tired. 

And I know the joy is there, under the relief. But my mind is struggling to get a firm grasp on it. Because everything was wrenched from my hands. And now everything has been returned. And all of it was so sudden that part of me is still staring down at my hands in disbelief. Part of me is still waiting for it all to be wrenched from me again, to spill from the clutches of my fingers like water.

And already the relief in my chest is permitting anxiety to join it. Like Relief is too kind and courteous to refuse Anxiety his offer of a dance. And Anxiety is leading and he is too fast and too forceful and he keeps stepping on Relief’s toes. But Relief just hides her cringing behind a plastered smile as the two swirl and twirl and dance on inside of me.

Because I am so relieved that the walls of Arkadia are still standing and now both bullets and blades keep watch over them. But now Helios’s nose is only feet from their gates and I promised myself I would never step through them again. And inside of me, Anxiety dips Relief too low, and she breaks a heel and stumbles from his clumsy arms and the dance is abruptly over. And Relief is now sitting in a folding chair in the corner nursing her wounds beneath droopy balloons while Anxiety prowls the dance floor in search of another partner, another victim.

I grip Helios’s reins in my hands so tightly my knuckles throb with the tension. And I almost pull back on them. I could camp outside with the warriors of Trikru. I could yank on his reins and turn us around before we cross the line. I could. I could. I could.

But I hesitate just a moment and suddenly Helios has already crossed the line of his own accord. I’m not guiding him anymore. It seems HE still thinks of Arkadia as home. And he is happy to return. So happy that he purposefully takes a sudden step to the side so that my good leg scrapes painfully against the sharp metal edge of the open gate as we pass through it. What a big shit. 

He carries me straight to the stables and buries his chestnut head in the trough of oats and hay before I can even dismount. 

“Octavia! Indra!” 

As I climb down from my saddle I’m greeted by two men dressed identically in the puffy black jacket of the Skaikru guards. I tramp right past the first, avoiding his eyes, avoiding his smile, avoiding his EVERYTHING, because I cannot look at him. And I fall into the arms of the second man, letting his scruffy beard scratch against my forehead for just a moment before I pull back again. 

“Welcome... Back.” Kane says. And I know he was about to say “home,” and I am glad he thought better of it. 

 

*** 

 

I pause at the door and take a deep breath, but the air does not reach the bottom of my lungs. It does not reach the burning. It does not reach the aching. So I close my eyes and lean against the metal. It is solid... So much more solid than I am. And I tell myself to try again. Another breath that is shallow, far too shallow. I am surrounded by nothing but air and I am suffocating. 

“Fuck it.” I say. “Fuck it.”

I push the door open and take one shaky step inside, crossing the threshold with my eyes still pressed closed. I am terrified that when I open them everything will be exactly the way I left it. I am terrified that when I open them everything will have changed. 

“Fuck it.” I say. “Fuck it.”

And I open my eyes to find everything exactly the way I left it. My trunk is still propped open, its contents spewing from it like vomit. The last time I was here I had torn through it like a thief who just heard the jingle of keys at the door, so hurried to get Lincoln’s journal and get out, that I hadn’t bothered to clean up after myself. The last time I was here I could not breathe. I still cannot breathe. 

My legs feel wobbly, so I drop to my knees on the cold metal floor. I am surrounded by my things. Surrounded by his things. Surrounded by silence. Surrounded by air. And I can’t breathe. I can’t fucking breathe. 

My belongings... His belongings... They are strewn and scattered about me, as mixed and tangled as we once were. Back when we would lay together and hold each other until our fingers entwined and our arms and legs tangled and our souls touched and mixed as messily as our breaths mingling in the space between us. Back when we would hold each other until there was no him and there was no me and there was only US. Back when I could breathe.

 

Lincoln’s jacket still hangs limply from the back of the chair beside me. I wrap my fist around one sleeve and tug it so fiercely that the chair topples over onto its side with a jolting metallic clatter that echoes harshly off the metal walls enclosing me. I run my fingers over the material, tracing the bumps and ridges of the logo etched across its back... The markings of Sky Crew... The markings of the Ark. I dig my fingernails into the stitching along the rounded edges of the patch and I try to tear it at the seams. I claw at it. I pull and pull and pull. But the stitching is strong... Too strong. And I am weak... Too weak. So I release the jacket and let it fall to the floor where it becomes just another part of the mess around me.

And I drop to my elbows and press my forehead to the cold, unyielding floor. And I become just another part of the mess. The center... The core... The heart of the mess. And I try to breathe. And I try to breathe. And I try to breathe.

And something is rising. I can feel it. But it is more than just the anger. There is something mixed with the anger and it takes me a second to recognize it... Panic. Hot, prickly, panic. It is crawling in my chest like rats, gnawing at my lungs, clawing at my heart, burrowing into my stomach. The panic is rising. And I do not welcome it.

 

I push myself back onto my knees and reach frantically around me, wildly grabbing things at random. And I shove them back into the depths of the trunk. And I try to shove the panic back into the depths of myself. But it is rising. I slam the trunk shut and smash my forehead against it, more cold metal. Metal door... Metal walls... Metal ceiling... Metal floor. I am surrounded. I am enclosed.

I close my eyes and suddenly I am back in my hole, my metal cage beneath the floor. I am in the darkness. I am in the silence. I am all alone. And I cannot breathe. I cannot fucking breathe.

“I am not afraid.” I tell myself. I whisper it like a prayer, again and again. I breathe it in. I breathe it out. “I am not afraid. I am not afraid.”

I open my eyes to metal all around. And the panic is rising and spilling out of me, breaking out of my pores like sweat, leaking from my skin like tears, draining from my body like blood. And I am afraid. I am afraid. I am afraid. And I can’t breathe. I am suffocating. And I can’t stay here a moment longer. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.

 

I throw myself through the door and down the hall, searching for an exit desperately like someone drowning, reaching for the water’s surface, grasping with their fingertips for air. I burst into the chill of the outside world. And I breathe. And I breathe. And I breathe. 

The morning sun is just breaking over the tips of the trees, shining weakly through the hazy layer of clouds, gently touching my cheek as if to say, “we both made it through, out of the darkness and into the light.” I turn my back on the Ark, on the metal and fix my eyes on the trees and open sky above me. Open... So open. And I breathe. I breathe. I breathe. And I feel the panic receding like a beast, having feasted, now sauntering back into its cave. 

 

“Octavia?” A voice calls out and I close my eyes. Because the panic is receding. But the anger remains. 

“Octavia...” Bellamy calls to me again. “I saw you running through the hall. Are you alright?”

I breathe in. I breathe out. I try to fight the anger. But when I open my eyes again, the heat in my chest still lingers. The tightness is still in my jaw and in my fists and in the empty space around my heart. 

I do not turn to him. I still cannot look at him. I walk away from him. I walk aimlessly. There is no particular “where” I am trying to get to. Nowhere but away from him. 

Of course, he follows me. He always follows me. And I feel the anger rising.

“O...” He cries out and my steps stutter slightly under the sudden weight of his hand on my shoulder. “O... Please stop.”

I try to shrug his hand off of me, but his grip is tight, persistent. Still, I barely break my stride. 

“O, please... I just want to talk to you.” Bellamy practically begs. 

“Then talk.” I growl. My voice is low again, gravelly and dangerous. I keep moving because the anger is still rising. It demands to be felt. And if I stop... If I look at him... It will erupt out of me. And I am trying to fight it. I am trying. 

“I’m sorry, O.” Bellamy says, and his voice is soft and tired and full of grief, but it does nothing to appease the anger, to ease the heat or the tightness. “I’m sorry for everything... EVERYTHING.”

I stop and close my eyes. I breathe in. I breathe out. And I realize my fingers have found their way into my pocket. And I feel the ridges of the seashell, smooth and rippled, hard and brittle, solid and fragile, all at once. And I don’t know when it became a habit to worry this shell in my fingertips. I cannot remember when it went from the pouch of my pack to the pocket of my pants. But it is here and the feel of its edges have become as familiar to my fingertips as the dry pages of Lincoln’s journal. I clench my shaking fingers into a fist around the tiny shell and I try to fight the anger. 

“I’m sorry, Octavia.” He says again. “I’m sorry for everything... For every time I failed to listen to you. For every time I tried to control you. For every time I treated you like a child. For every time I treated you like a burden. For every time I made you feel small or weak or unwanted or alone... I’m sorry for every time I tried to protect you and for not seeing that you don’t need my protection. Because you are not the little girl in the floor. You are strong. And Lincoln saw that. And Indra and Clarke and Kane... They all saw it. But I couldn’t see your strength. But I see it now. And I’m sorry it took me so long... I’m sorry it took me so long to see you.”

He pauses for a deep breath and I feel the anger burning in the back of my throat and in my eyes. Because I am angry... So angry at Bellamy. But I am so much angrier at myself.

Because I want to turn to him. I want to see his goofy, lopsided grin. I want to see my brother... The boy who always pulled me out of the floor and lifted me onto his back and gave me pony rides around our compartment until the fear left... Until I could breathe again. I want him to dig his sharp knuckles into my scalp and laugh as I slam my fists uselessly against his solid chest. I want him to hold me in his arms and kiss me on the forehead until I feel safe... Until I feel like I am home. I want to turn and see my brother. 

But I open my eyes and suddenly realize my feet have carried me to the spot where Lincoln fell to the ground. And though the rain has long washed it away, I look at the dirt and all I see is red. And I know if I turn to Bellamy I will not see my brother. Because the boy with the grin and the laughter and the arms that felt like home... The boy who helped me breathe... That boy is gone. As gone as Lincoln. And if I turn to what is left of the boy I once loved, all I will see is red.

 

Bellamy’s hand on my shoulder is heavy and hot and I feel my skin crawling beneath it, desperate to wriggle out from under its weight. “I’m sorry, Octavia.” He says, yet again. “I’m sorry for everything. I want to make things right. Tell me how to make things right.” His voice is pleading, desperate, peaked. And when I answer, my voice is lifeless and flat. 

“I can’t.” Is all I say. I throw my shoulder back violently as I pull away from him. And I’m not sure if it was my motion that broke me free of his grasp or if his fingers finally released me.

 

I tromp towards the trees, away from Bellamy, away from the metal and the red dirt and the memories. But I haven’t taken ten steps before I see her. And I wonder how long she has been standing there, watching. But the discomfort in her small smile is so poorly hidden that I know she heard and saw more than enough.

I return the offering of her smile with a tight-lipped glare. And I know I should smile. I know I should thank her for helping Trikru. I know I should close the distance between us and wrap my arms around her. But the anger still pulses thickly through my blood like alcohol, clouding my mind, separating my thoughts from my actions. And my fist is still wrapped tightly around the seashell, but the anger is in control.

“Go ahead...” I hear myself say and it is like the snarl of a wild animal, of some beast breaking loose, escaping from the cavern of my soul. “Say it!”

Clarke just frowns at me, confused, nervous, uncomfortable. I should apologize. But I open my mouth and instead of “sorry,” I hear the beast snarl again.

“Say it! Tell me I need to forgive him. Tell me I need to move on... Get over the anger... Learn to forgive and let go. Say it!”

I’m so angry my hands are trembling uncontrollably. The heat trapped inside of me is pressing against the thin walls of my body. It wants out. It wants to break free of me. I am about to burst open. I am about to catch fire. 

I glare at Clarke and I want to see the anger in her too. I want her to shout at me as wildly as I shout at her. I want her to hit me, to break me. I want her to give me the pain I deserve.

But she just puts her hand on my shoulder and gives me a weak, sympathetic smile.

“Octavia... I’m still trying to figure out how to forgive, myself.”

Another fucking hand on my shoulder. And its weight is almost as repulsive as Bellamy’s was. Because there is only one hand that can quell the anger. And it is not Indra’s. It is not Luna’s or Orna’s or Roddek’s. It is not Bellamy’s. And it is not Clarke’s. 

And I wonder if Clarke can read my thoughts on my face because she lets her arm drop before I can move to push it away. And she turns and walks away before I can. 

I feel the anger finally receding with every step she takes away from me. And its sudden absence leaves a painful emptiness in me as I move into the cold shade of the trees. And though the anger is gone, the burning in my throat and in my eyes has only intensified. And I cannot fight it anymore. I am too weak.

I press my back against the bark of a tree and let my body crumple, pulling my knees to my chest as I drop to the soft forest floor. And my body curls around itself until I am small again. And the flames in my throat and in my eyes finally give way to tears. They spill out of me and I wonder where all of this water could possibly come from, because I am hollow inside. As hollow as the seashell in my palm.

And without being asked to, the emptiness inside of me politely scooches over to make room for the loneliness.


	25. Early

25  
Early

OCTAVIA

I wake to brilliant cyan blue overhead and a thousand shades of green and brown attacking my pupils, and the brightness of it all is so assaulting that I squeeze my eyes shut again. The sunlight on my cheek is almost warm and it paints streaks of red into the blackness on the insides of my eyelids. I stare into the mixing reds and blacks and try to form solid thoughts out of the thick, shapeless tendrils of fog roiling around in my sleepy brain. My eyes are dry and burning dully with that all too familiar sting that comes with too little sleep and too many tears. And there is a slimy, half-dried trail of drool running down my cheek, tracing the sharp edge of my jawline. The drool explains why I feel so completely disoriented. I only ever drool on those rare nights when the exhaustion is so all-consuming that I don’t even dream, and a random passerby might mistake me for clinically dead. And on those nights, I swear the memories leak from me as messily as the saliva does. 

Despite the valiant sun overhead, the squishy earth beneath me is damp and cool and I pull my knees further into my chest, curling into myself, trying to force the question mark of my body into a capital G, and pulling the edges of the thin blanket tighter around the edges of my own thin skin. And I am grateful for its small offering of warmth and a soft touch. But now I am confused, because my hazy brain can find no memories of settling down into the moss and dirt and cuddling into this blanket and bidding Sleep to wrap his sweet oblivion around me.

So I open my eyes and blink against the colors and the light, forcing them to focus, hoping that they might encourage my brain to focus too. The simple gray blanket bound tightly around me is a standard issue Ark blanket, and though they might be identical to the untrained eye, I immediately know that it is not my own. There are no creases along the top edge worn into the fabric from years of being scrunched in the tight clutch of my balled fist night after night. There is no threadbare patch running along the bottom where my wiggling toes have diligently burrowed their way through the fleece while I’ve slept, like a man trying to dig his way out of a cell with a spoon. There is no tear in the corner where it once snagged on a rusty nail while playing Supergirl, my arms clutched around Bellamy’s neck as he raced around our tiny compartment and I closed my eyes and pretended to fly, my blanket tied to my neck, trailing behind me like a cape. 

This blanket is new, so new that there are creases running through it from years of sitting folded in a stack in some dark corner of the Ark. So new that it still smells vaguely of its plastic wrappings. It smells just like the Ark... Man-made... Synthetic... Mass produced. It smells like my hole in the floor. It smells like being trapped.

Suddenly I am utterly repulsed by it and its warm, soft touch against my skin is like fingers crawling over me, prodding me and squeezing me and enclosing me in their clutches. And as I tear it from around my shoulders and the curved edge of my back and the narrow space between my scrunched knees, I suddenly remember why I am laying in the forest. I had to escape the cage of the solid, metal walls of the Ark as badly as I need to escape the cage of the soft, fleece folds of this blanket. 

I unwind my limbs and push myself onto my elbows and frantically wriggle out from beneath the fabric. And that is when I finally notice her. She lies mere feet from me, one hand tucked in a fist beneath her chin, the other wrapped around her knees, pulling them so tightly into herself that the curve of her body looks almost painful. Eevie is folded into herself as tightly as I long to be. She is absolutely tiny. She shivers slightly in her sleep. She has no blanket.

And I imagine her lying in the darkness on a strange new cot beneath a strange new blanket, surrounded by metal, struggling to breathe. And in my mind, I see her clutching that blanket in her hands, letting it drag limply behind her as she plods silently, fearfully down the maze of metal corridors in search of an exit, an opening in the bars of the cage wide enough for her to squeeze through. And I see her breaking into the dim light of morning and racing into the forest to find a deep breath, her blanket now flying wildly behind her like a cape. 

And I see her stumbling across me, a broken form laying on the ground, my body folded in on itself, my arms wrapped tightly around the rest of me like they’ve taken it upon themselves to ensure that the rest of me doesn’t fall apart while I sleep. And I see her unclench the balls of her fists from around the folds of the only thing she possesses, the only thing she has to offer, and draping the blanket over the mess of me before laying down on the cold, damp earth and pulling her own knees to her chest and wrapping her own arms around her body to hold herself together as she sleeps.

And suddenly I want to cry. But it seems I’ve finally run out of tears. And all my tired, dry eyes can do is continue to burn. And I suppose it’s for the best. Because the sun overhead tells me that morning is fading into afternoon and I know I should go find Indra and Kane. Because the sun shining so brightly overhead is like a sick, ironic joke that only the rest of the universe finds funny. Because I know the storm is coming.

I push myself to my feet and consider the fragile little human curled on the ground before me. I could lift her easily into my arms. I could carry her back into the warm shelter of the Ark. I could tuck her into the soft, dry nest of a proper bed. But I imagine her waking up and feeling trapped. So I snag the abandoned blanket from the forest floor. And I give it a few hard shakes in the wind. And the pieces of bark and dirt and pebbles and pine needles all flick from its fibers into the forest air. But no matter how I try, I cannot shake the smell from it. Still, I wrap the fleece around her to stop the shivering and then I turn my back and leave her alone in the trees. Because I know that this girl doesn’t have a home. But whatever she used to call “home...” I know these trees are a whole lot closer to it than the walls of Arkadia. Because I completely understand.

 

*** 

CLARKE

“How do I look?” Bellamy asked, striking a playful pose. Clarke eyed his thick jacket and pants, torn and roughly patched, still smelling of the fresh layer of grayish-blue spray paint they had just applied. 

“Horrible.” She said with a frown, “And more importantly... Unconvincing.” 

At her assessment, the goofy smile dividing the streaks of white on Bellamy’s face drooped into a frown to match Clarke’s.

“That’s a LITTLE better.” She let out a small laugh. “Maybe try grimacing, or baring your teeth and foaming at the mouth a little.” She dug her fingers into the container of white chalk and smeared more of it here and there across Bellamy’s shoulders and chest and back, adding messy patches of white to the blue-gray. Then she applied the same technique to her own thick jacket and baggy cargo pants. 

“How do I look?” She asked, grimly.

“Unconvincing.” Bellamy admitted.

“Well... Let’s just make sure we aren’t seen.” Clarke replied, pulling her hood up and leading Bellamy through the halls of Arkadia into the dying afternoon light.

 

*** 

OCTAVIA

I take one last deep breath of the outside air and I whisper to myself as I step into the halls of Arkadia, avoiding the faces and eyes of everyone bustling around me. I tell myself I’m not afraid. But I AM afraid. Not that the walls are closing in... Not that I’m going to suffocate. That panic has passed and for now, that ugly beast sleeps quietly in the dark cavern of my chest. I am afraid that when I find Indra and Kane, I will also find Bellamy. I am afraid that instead of this emptiness, I’ll feel the anger rising again. And I’m afraid that I’ll welcome it. But I’m even more afraid that I’ll find Clarke. Because I am terrified that instead of the anger or the emptiness I will feel the smoldering shame and the icy guilt. And if anger is a drug, the shame and the guilt are the terrible, terrible down after the high. And I don’t think I can cope with them. Not today... Not now.

I knock tentatively, lightly, on the door to the gaurdroom, but the rasp of my bony knuckles against the metal seems violently loud and I almost wish I could take it back, reach out and pluck the noise from the air and shove it into my pocket instead. The door wedges open and Miller shoots me a friendly smile from the other side of it. I tighten my cheeks, pulling the corners of my mouth up as best as I can, hoping the result bears some semblance to a smile. But if I am grimacing, Miller doesn’t seem to notice. He looks like he’s about to hug me, and I quickly shuffle through the door and past him, avoiding his eyes so I don’t have to see disappointment or confusion or hurt in them. I hope he doesn’t think anything of it. I hope he doesn’t take it personally. Because I’m not avoiding Miller’s arms... I’m avoiding all physical contact with other humans. And I would tell him so, but I guess I’m avoiding all unnecessary verbal contact too.

 

I glance around the room and breathe a small sigh of relief. There is no mop of curly black hair. There is no braided mess of blond. There is only Indra and Kane and a broad, barrel-chested monster of a man I’ve never seen before. He has streaks of green and silver running diagonally across his bushy brows and sharp dagger of a nose and disappearing into a scruffy beard almost as thick as Kane’s. And the bow resting against the leg of his chair glows a soft white in the dim of the windowless room. Trishana must have arrived while I slept, and despite his formidable appearance, I am relieved to see Turlino at Indra’s side. 

Kane, Indra, and Turlino are hunched over a table strewn with maps of Arkadia and Ton DC and Polis and everywhere in between. They are drawing out battle plans, readying themselves to make their stand. And the three leaders... The three warriors... Look so impressive that I just stand awkwardly in the corner with Miller, listening as they prepare for the clash... When trees and sky and wild, fertile earth will hold fast to one another while ice and sand and stone rain down upon them. 

 

“Ice Nation’s already taken Polis.” Miller fills me in through whispers. “They’re massing their armies in and around the city. Rock Line took the city with them. And scouts report both the Shallow Valley Crew and the Desert People are less than a day’s march away from the city. All four armies could be ready to march on Arkadia as early as tomorrow.” He stops whispering as Indra breaks the pensive quiet between the leaders.

“If we position Ingranrona here and here...” Indra suggests, drawing two lines across a map I cannot see. “They can hold the line’s defenses and prevent Azgeda’s forces from flanking Arkadia and surrounding us entirely.”

“Or, if we position them here and here,” Kane offers. “We could take the offense and sweep around through the forest here and along this ridge here, to flank THEIR forces from behind.” 

“If their army is as massive as the scouts indicate,” Indra counters. “There is no possible way the riders could flank them... At least not before they have already closed in around, and on top of, Arkadia. An offensive attack would be a foolish use of our limited numbers. We need to utilize every warrior to hold the defensive line. If we split the riders along the eastern and western fronts of Arkadia...”

“How can we even be sure...” Turlino’s gruff voice cuts in. “That we will have riders to maneuver? Azgeda’s forces will be massed by nightfall and there is yet to be a report of a single rider crossing the plains.”

“Chief Rider Rashanna assured me...” Indra starts but is cut off by a sudden pounding on the metal door.

As if magically summoned by Turlino’s doubts themselves, the breathless, black-faced warrior steps into the room and turns to Indra. “Riders have been spotted in the West! Ingranrona approaches swiftly. They should reach the forest’s edge by sundown.”

“Send a party to intercept them.” Indra instructs the warrior, the slight edge of excitement ringing in her deep voice. “They ride for Ton DC. Direct them to the gates of Arkadia.”

The man gives Indra a sharp nod and bolts from the room as suddenly as he entered it. 

Indra turns towards Kane, and unable to stop herself, allows a small grin to cross her face. “She’s early.”

 

*** 

CLARKE

The sword dangling at Clarke’s hip kept banging annoyingly against the outside of her thigh and she felt like its unfamiliar weight was making her drift slightly to the left like a car out of alignment. The blade was Trikru steel, but it was a lot more likely to pass as Azgeda than the pistol concealed in her coat, or the rifle hidden beneath the backing of Bellamy’s puffy, over-sized jacket. 

Clarke fingered the blade’s hilt as they walked, wondering why she had never thought to ask Lexa to show her how to use one. She imagined Lexa wrapping her long slender fingers around her wrists and patiently guiding her clumsy hands through the fluid, sweeping motions Lexa had mastered as a child. She imagined those fingers gently digging into her awkward hips, trying to force them to swivel and lunge with any semblance of grace, like a ballroom maestro teaching a lanky pubescent boy how to dance the rumba. She imagined Lexa holding back the laughter and lying to her about how she had struggled for years to master the simple movements that Clarke fumbled through, assuring her that she wasn’t ‘hopeless,’ she just needed practice. 

But, no matter how vividly she imagined it, no matter how badly she longed for it, Lexa wasn’t here to teach her. And she didn’t even know how to walk properly with the blade at her side, let alone how to take a life with it. And maybe someday she would ask Octavia or Indra to give her a lesson or two. But even as the idea popped into her mind she knew she probably never would. Just as she would never ask anyone to teach her to swim.

 

They walked in silence. It was neither comfortable nor uncomfortable. It was simply there. And the only sounds that broke it were the swish-swish of their pant legs and jacket sleeves rubbing and the goddamn thunk, thunk of the sword against her leg. It was going to be a long walk, a very long walk. And she longed again for her horse, but they had decided that they would be less likely to be seen on foot, and if they had to, more likely to blend in.

Clarke glanced at Bellamy walking beside her, unable to determine if the look on his face was boredom or if he was just really focused. She still hadn’t decided whether she was glad to have him with her or not. She had planned to come alone. She had argued that Arkadia needed every possible gun on its wall in case she failed. But really... It just felt like something she was supposed to do on her own. 

But Bellamy insisted it was crazy, reckless, and downright stupid for her to go alone... Not to mention, suicidal. And he argued that if she failed, one gun was not going to make a difference, Arkadia would be doomed either way. And the rational part of Clarke knew he was absolutely right. But the rest of her still begrudged the fact that Bellamy always insisted on tagging along, thinking he was some kind of ferocious guard dog, when Clarke saw him more as a whiny puppy with separation anxiety.

 

Dusk was beginning to fall slowly around them when Clarke reckoned they were about halfway to the city. And she was about to break the silence and suggest taking a quick rest when she heard them... Drumbeats drifting solid and heavy on the wind. Bellamy tugged at her sleeve, pulling her into a dense thicket of tangled blackberry vines as the beating grew louder and louder still, accompanied by the drumming of hundreds and hundreds of boots against the forest floor. 

“They’re marching already!” She whispered stupidly, as if Bellamy hadn’t noticed the deafening pounding and as if anyone could possibly hear her voice in the roar. “They’ll reach Arkadia just after nightfall. They’re not expecting them this soon. They won’t be ready. We need to hurry up!” She added frantically, rising to her feet.

“No!” Bellamy whispered back, tugging her back down beside him. “We have to remain unseen.” He argued. “These jackets might pass for Azgeda in the darkness, but there’s still way too much daylight. If we get caught...”

He didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t need to. They both knew what would happen if they failed. And the rational part of Clarke knew that Bellamy was right again. And the rest of her begrudgingly stayed put, ignoring the bite of countless thorns snagging into her jacket and tearing into any exposed bits of flesh, as they waited for the enemy to show its ugly face.

 

Clarke knew Azgeda’s army was massive. But she had not expected the veritable ocean of warriors that passed through the trees around them. The blue-gray-whites of Azgeda and Boudalan made the mass look like a foaming, storm-tossed sea. Here or there the waves were interrupted by groups of yellow-orange Sangedakru warriors standing out like sandbars and patches of light green and violet Louwoda Kliron moving along like drifting seaweed.

Clarke thought of her first battle on the ground... When she and seventy odd children tried to make a stand against three hundred trained warriors. At the time, it had seemed to her that Trikru’s army was never-ending, an unstoppable force. 

Three hundred... And now she was looking at an army of at least three THOUSAND. 

It seemed to Clarke that her side was ALWAYS outnumbered... Hopelessy outnumbered. The only time she had been part of the larger force was when she had marched on Mt. Weather with Lexa at her side. And next to Lexa she had felt confident, eager, ALIVE. But then the Commander had shattered both of their hearts and Clarke had found herself alone, hopelessly outnumbered again. Outnumbered at the dropship... Outnumbered in the mountain... Outnumbered in the City of Light...

It was a miracle Clarke was still breathing, and Skaikru along with her. But, looking out at this sea of warriors, she doubted any lever or any amount of rocket fuel was going to save her people this time. There was only one hope for her people now. And it was currently crouched pathetically in a thicket of brambles.


	26. The Calm Before the Storm

26  
The Calm Before the Storm

OCTAVIA

Ingranrona arrives dragging dust and dusk behind them. And I have never seen Arkadia so alive with movement. All around me people are busy tending to their horses, sharpening their blades, counting bullets or arrows, streaking their faces with paint, greeting one another... some with friendly smiles, some with perfunctory nods or forearm shakes, some simply with wary glares.

The air is alive with a tense energy, an anticipation of something coming that I can feel in the marrow of my bones. It is the calm before the storm, when the lightning is still just an electric charge buzzing in the air. When the thunder is still just a strange red lining in the gathering gray-black clouds. The horses paw at the ground and throw their heads back anxiously. They can sense the energy building in the air as clearly as the hairs standing on my arms can. The storm is coming.

 

I’m grateful for the throng of faces and horses all around me. Because in this crowd I am just another face painted black lost in the sea of black Trikru, green and silver Trishana, and the tans and browns and blacks and whites of the Ingranrona, whose faces are splotched in patterns of color as varied as the coats of the mustangs on which they ride. In this mass of warriors, I am not Octavia kom Trikru or Octavia kom Skaikru or Octavia Blake. I am not the “girl from the floor,” or the “Grounder-Pounder,” or the “Sky-Girl playing warrior.” No one here insults me. Even better, no one here tries to comfort me. No one here knows I am broken. No one here cares. 

 

“Octavia kom Trikru?” A voice calls and I turn to see her sitting on a fallen log, watching me curiously. The silvers and greens on her face are intricately painted to depict the end of a tree limb, the silver bough bending along the ridge of one cheek bone and climbing across her nose and brows, its delicate branches creeping up her forehead and down around her lips. The spindly tip of one branch curves along the contours of her temple and ends with the tip of a tiny green leaf meeting the corner of her eye. The effect is stunning... As stunning as the twigs woven into her dark locks, glowing softly in the falling darkness. And it makes me think maybe I should put a little more effort into the messy streaks and smudges of black on my own cheeks and the tangled braids in my unwashed hair. 

“Malika kom Trishana.” I answer her with a small smile as she rises and extends an arm to greet me. The arm clasp is mercifully brief before she plunks back down and goes back to fiddling with her long, slender bow. I watch her struggling slightly as she tries to slip a thin, forest green, cloth covering over its glowing riser. 

“Natsoncha bark is uncommonly strong AND uncommonly supple.” She tells me. “ The perfect combination for fashioning perfect bows. Trishana’s bows are the best in the world. But...” She grumbles as she finally secures the cloth with a small huff. “Unfortunately... outside of our forest, the glow makes concealment a bit... DIFFICULT. And remaining unseen is a Trishana warrior’s greatest defense.”

I don’t have anything to say in reply. But she doesn’t seem to care. I plunk down beside her as she pulls a sheath of arrows from behind her and starts slipping another thin cloth over one’s shaft. She didn’t invite me to sit. But she didn’t stop me either. And she doesn’t speak again. And neither do I. But the silence is not uncomfortable and I rest my elbows on my knees and gaze around at the hustle and bustle around us as she works. I pull my sword out and start absentmindedly polishing it along the lining of my coat, more so that I have something to do with my hands than for any other reason. Plus I like the weight of the blade in my grip almost as much as the weight of Lincoln’s journal.

“You any good with that?” Malika asks.

“Huh?” 

“You any good with your blade?” She repeats bluntly.

I think of the hours I spent with Lincoln, his patient hands guiding my awkward hips, his arms wrapping around mine, gripping my wrists as I swung the heavy blade clumsily through the air. I think of the feel of his solid chest pressed against my back and his biceps squeezed gently around my shoulders and how it was all I could do to concentrate on my footwork and my grip when all I could think about was how badly I wanted to turn around and fall into his arms properly. But Lincoln was always so focused, even when I made stupid jokes about how I’d rather play with HIS sword, and most of the time we stayed on task, despite my attempts to lure him into distraction. MOST of the time. Still... I think I’ve learned a lot more from Indra. There is NOTHING distracting about HER hands on me.

“I can hold my own.” I answer, a bit more defensively than I’d planned. “You any good with that bow?”

“My father was one of Trishana’s finest archers.” She replies. “As soon as I could stand upright he thrust my first tiny bow into my chubby fists. And I carried it with me everywhere I went. Other kids dragged teddy bears and blankets around... I dragged my bow. As long as I can remember I’ve had a bow in my hand or slung across my shoulders or resting against my leg. I’m more likely to forget to put on underwear before I leave the house than I am to leave my bow behind. So... Yes... I can hold my own.” She laughs, imitating me. Her words are cocky, but her tone is simply confident, not arrogant. And surprisingly, I don’t feel any anger rising.

“Doesn’t matter if it’s a frightened rabbit or a running deer or a bird on wing...” She continues. “I never miss my target. Straight in the eye every time.”

“The eye?” My lip curls at the thought.

“It’s the most merciful kill. Takes them down quickly. I always take the mercy shot with animals.”

“And with men?” I ask, because the way she emphasized animals has spiked my curiosity. I imagine taking an arrow through the eye. Doesn’t exactly scream “merciful” to me.

She flashes me a smirk, leaning back on the log casually. “With men... Well... There are so many great targets to choose from. Really, it depends on my mood... How much fun I want to have.”

A small chuckle escapes me. I think I like this girl. I think we might have a thing or two in common. Because, like Lincoln, I may fight for peace or to protect the ones I love. I may fight for what is good and right. But I know I am more like the girl sitting beside me than I ever was like Lincoln. Because Lincoln only killed when absolutely necessary and I watched him droop a little lower under the weight of every new scar he added to his shoulders. But me... Deep down... I’ve ALWAYS enjoyed the kill. 

 

“Your brother doesn’t look ready for battle.” I comment, spotting Teeko struggling to light a small cook fire a few yards from our log. The scrawny boy carries no weapons. He wears no armor. The only color on his face is the red splotches of acne that practically glow amongst the freckles on his pasty white skin.

“He’s not going into battle.” Malika answers. “My father shoved a bow in Teeko’s hands too. Everyone expected Teeko to be the next warrior in my family, what with him being the boy and all.” She says a bit bitterly. “But Teeko didn’t take a liking to it the way I did. He was always setting it down and leaving it lying around in strange, forgotten places, frustrating my father to no end.” She lets out a sad chuckle and I suddenly remember that her father is gone... Gone to the Land of Eternal Light, as she had called it. Gone... Just like Lincoln.

“Teeko was an alright shot.” Malika continues. “Not nearly as good as I was... But decent enough. And my father still had high hopes for him. But as soon as our father decided to graduate us from cardboard targets to living creatures, it was obvious Teeko was not cut out to be a warrior. He couldn’t bring himself to shoot a rabbit, let alone another human being. While my father and I hunted, he spent most of his time plucking flowers and ferns and weeds from the forest floor. The boy is crazy about botany.” She shakes her head as if torn between amusement, confusion, and a whole lot of embarrassment on his behalf.

“If he’s not fighting, then why is he here?” I ask. “If our defenses don’t hold, we’re most likely all going to die.” I say it matter-of-factly. I’m not worried. I’m not afraid of dying. It seems Malika isn’t either.

“He’s here to help with the medical team.” She answers nonchalantly. “He’s been apprenticing with Healer Orna for months now. He’s got a whole sack of vials of medicinal crushed leaves and ground flower petals and dried mosses. I don’t know anything about any of it. But if you’ve got a couple of hours to kill, I’m sure he’ll happily tell you all about them. He talked non-stop about you all the way here.” She laughs, throwing me a sideways glance with a teasing smirk. “Would NOT shut-up. I think, MAYBE, he MIGHT like you, just a little bit.” She finished with a sarcastic, perfectly executed eye-roll. 

I eye the boy crouched over the small pile of twigs, still struggling. I don’t see the flicker of a single flame or even the hint of smoke and I wonder how any Grounder has managed to get through childhood without learning how to properly build a simple cook fire. “I think I’ll pass on that.” I mumble. “Maybe another time.”

As if he can sense my eyes on him, Teeko rises from his crouch, frustratedly kicks at the heap of twigs, and turns towards us. His angry frown pulls into a pathetic grin when his eyes meet mine. 

“Octavia!” He calls out as I frantically run through a list of possible excuses I could make for having to rapidly disappear. A sudden bout of diarrhea? Cramps? The unexpected onset of my period? I’m so desperate, nothing seems too embarrassing.

He opens his mouth to say something, but before he can get a word out, the blaring of a horn cuts through the night air, ringing through the empty spaces, rebounding off the trees. It is a Trikru horn. The horn of a scout. It sounds a second time and then a third. And suddenly the hairs on the back of my neck are standing up and the tingling burn of adrenaline is rushing like a drug through my veins and I feel my lips pull into a wild smile. 

“What was that?” Teeko asks, fear and confusion battling for prominence in his cracking voice. All around us, the hustle and bustle has stopped as if we are all a part of some movie and someone just hit the pause button. People blink at each other stupidly for one moment, two moments, three. And then everyone bursts into frantic action at once.

“What’s happening?” Teeko asks me. There is panic in his wide blue eyes. I glance from him to Malika. Her own blue eyes are alive with excitement. She is smiling like me. And again I wonder how it is that she got all the good genes in the family. 

She reaches out to grasp my forearm before I can even think to pull it away. “May the light guide you.”

“May we meet again.” I answer. And for once, I am not just reciting the words. For once, a small part of me actually hopes they come true. 

Malika turns to the boy we’ve both been ignoring. “Come on, little brother... Let’s get you inside.”

“What’s happening?” He asks a final time, turning his terrified eyes from me, to his sister, and then back to me. 

“They’re coming.” Malika answers for me.

 

***

CLARKE

At last the rear of the army passed, and when the roar of the drums softened into a dull throbbing like blood in her ears, Clarke pushed herself out of the thorns. They had crouched so long it felt like the thorns had climbed under her skin and into the depths of her muscles, and she shook the prickles from her legs violently before pulling at Bellamy’s sleeve and starting at a jog through the trees. 

Clarke had always hated running and she cursed her lazy past-self when the side ache forced her jog into a speed-walk and the fire in her lungs forced her speed-walk back into a normal walk. Because she knew that with every minute that passed another Skaikru or Trikru warrior, another friend or loved one, might be ripped from her hands as irrevocably as Lexa or Lincoln or Finn or Wells or her father had been. So many friends and loved ones had been stolen from her desperate clutches and she couldn’t bear to lose anyone else. But the Polis tower was still just a distant, black pillar looming in the growing darkness and her feet could not carry her into its shadow quickly enough.

 

At last Bellamy and Clarke reached the outskirts of the city, now under the cloak of proper darkness. They sneaked in the same way she and Murphy had only so many days ago. But this time the city was not empty. Clarke was both relieved and worried by the vast number of Azgeda guards wandering the streets. Worried for obvious reasons. Because the idea of sneaking into the tower unseen was beginning to seem crazier and stupider with every passing second. But she was also relieved, because it seemed Indra was right: King Arlen was not marching honorably with his forces, fearlessly leading the front lines into battle like Lexa would have. He was sitting safely on his usurped throne, exactly where Clarke was hoping to find him.

Clarke took a deep breath, pulled the edges of her hood closer around her ears, and stepped out from the shadows with Bellamy at her heels. She tried to walk naturally, as if her legs weren’t wobbly beneath her, as if her pounding heart was not threatening to break her open like a wild creature throwing itself against the bars of her rib cage with every step she took. She kept her gaze forward, avoiding eyes and faces as she weaved through the guards mulling about around her, sticking close to the shadows. And the adrenaline burning in her veins and lungs and fingertips was almost painful. But it seemed, with the aid of the city’s semi-darkness, their disguises were just good enough to pass. Because no one bothered to give her a second glance.

Clarke released a long, heavy breath as they squeezed their way into the darkness of the tunnels running beneath the tower. She pulled a small flashlight from the pocket of her cargo pants and they followed its tiny ring of yellow light through the emptiness, creeping along in the silence, until they reached the rusted old maintenance ladder. Clarke sucked in another deep breath. With only the two of them, there was no way they were hi-jacking the lift, and the prospect of climbing this rickety ladder up the entirety of Polis tower was almost as daunting as the task she would face if she ever managed to reach the top.

 

*** 

OCTAVIA

 

“Smooth riding, my sister.”

“Smooth riding, old friend.”

Helios impatiently paws at the ground beneath us as the women part. Like me, he is eager. I weave my fingers into his mane and take a deep, deep breath, savoring the weight of it in the very bottoms of my lungs. I feel the oxygen flooding my blood, joining the adrenaline and pure excitement already coursing through it like liquid fire. 

The sea of warriors is eerily silent as we pass through the gates to meet them. Rashanna leads the way, and as the warriors part down the middle for her, I feel like I am following Moses through the Red Sea and into the wilderness. Only we are not fleeing from the enemy. We are rushing to greet them.

Rashanna pauses in the middle of the quiet horde and shouts into the night. “Riders of the Great Plains... Tonight we ride amongst friends and allies to stamp sand, ice, and stone under our horses’ hooves. May your spears be sharp and swift. May your hands be strong and steady. And may your steeds be sure of foot. Smooth riding to each of you, until we reach the Great Horizon.” 

“Until we reach the Great Horizon.” Voices echo from every corner of the sea of warriors and I shiver as all around me the tips of spears rise as if to pierce the night sky.

“Smooth riding, kid.” Roddek calls softly to me. Then he and Rashanna trot to the edge of the sea and ride off in opposite directions. Riders split out of the mass of warriors, half following Roddek as he sweeps out to form our Eastern front, the others following Rashanna to the West.

The remaining mass of warriors presses in closer around us in the wake of Ingranrona’s departure. A number of Trikru are mounted like Indra and me, but the vast majority stand steady on their own two feet, as Turlino steps into the middle of the crowd next and raises his bow into the space above him. He has not yet covered his riser and the bow glows softly, beautifully in the semi-darkness as if the man’s fist brandishes moonlight, itself.

“Archers of Trishana,” He bellows in his gruff voice. “Warriors of the light... Tonight we gather in a forest not our own to shed our light into its darkness. May the branches of its trees embrace you and hold you firmly. May your arrows find their marks. May the night conceal you. And may the light ever guide you.”

“May the light ever guide you.” The archers echo back and Turlino leads them into the forest to our North. They will spread out to the Northeast and Northwest to form a wide semi-circle before Arkadia. And they will hide in the branches above and let the enemy gather below them, let the enemy flood the forest, before they open fire and rain down arrows from above.

I look for the branches of a tree in the faces of green and silver passing by me. I search for the glowing white woven into her dark locks, but wherever Malika is, she is lost in the black ocean of archers, each clad in cloaks as dark as night. I watch as the archers reach the edges of the forest and disappear like shadows into the trees.

The number of warriors pressed in around us is significantly smaller now and the faces staring up at us are only streaked in black or not at all. 

“Warriors of Trikru...” Indra calls out in Trigedasleng in her powerful, deep voice, and I am surprised when she pauses and nods at Kane standing beside her.

“Arkers of Arkadia...” Kane addresses the crowd in English.

“We band together tonight not as Trikru and Skaikru.” Indra speaks.

“We stand side-by-side not as people of the ground and people of the sky.” Kane echoes her.

“Tonight we unite as warriors of this forest to make our stand against those who seek to cut it down, to cut us down.”

“We unite as defenders to protect the lands that we call home and the lives of those whom we call ‘family’ and those whom we call ‘friends.’”

“May your feet be planted as solid and strong as the trees. May your blades sink into flesh as deep as their roots into earth.”

“May your hands be steady and your aim be true. And may your courage hold through the night.”

“Mebi oso na hit choda op nodotaim.”

“May we meet again.”

“May we meet again.” The crowd echoes back, and in the loudness of it all, it is hard to distinguish the English from the Trigedasleng.

“Mebi oso na hit choda op nodotaim.” I whisper, even as my mind still hears my words as “May we meet again.” 

 

The crowd disperses around us, Arkers climbing the walls of Arkadia to find sniping positions or moving in the direction of the secret bunkers we’ve long since cut out of the earth in the forests surrounding Arkadia. Trikru warriors form tight lines in the open space between Arkadia’s walls and the surrounding forest. They form their own walls of soft flesh and sharp steel. No... I think to myself as I look again at the warriors standing strong and steady, side-by-side before me. They haven’t formed walls. They’ve formed a forest... A forest of flesh and steel.

I keep Helios planted beside Cedar, directly in front of Arkadia’s gates, where the battle will be thickest. “I am not afraid.” I tell myself. And for once, the words are true. Because I do not fear death. And, for the first time in a long time, I feel so much more than just the anger and the emptiness. I feel ALIVE.

For the first time since Lincoln’s arms released me, I feel like I have found a ‘home.’ Because this is where I belong... Beside Indra, with Lincoln’s sword in my hand. Soon, I will be in the center, the heart of the battle. The storm is coming and I will not retreat. I will wait for it here, in the core. I will stand firm in the eye of the storm.


	27. Burning and Itching

27  
Burning and Itching

 

CLARKE

 

Clarke’s arms were burning, shaking from her biceps to her foreams to her fucking fingertips. She could already feel the blisters bubbling up along the edges of her palms, where each rusty rung of the ladder rubbed and pulled at the tender skin. Her legs were just as wobbly as her arms and the flashlight she gripped between her teeth made it hard to breathe. And the worst part of it all was that she had no idea how much further she had to go. She had long lost count of the rungs below her, and the rungs above her only disappeared into further darkness. 

She wrapped her cramping hand around another rung and pulled. Again and again... Wrap and pull and wrap and pull, and wrap...

Suddenly the rusty rung broke free of the ladder’s sides and Clarke shrieked as she lost her balance and her feet skidded down the ladder. The flashlight slipped free of her lips as, terrified, she clung to the ladder with her remaining hand. She felt Bellamy’s arm wrap around her shins and boost her up as the metal clang of the flashlight smashing to pieces echoed through the tunnel from a long ways down. 

“It’s OK.” He said. “I got you.”

“Fuck... Fuck... Fuck...” Clarke muttered under her breath even as she tried to catch it, wrapping her elbow around a rung and clinging to it. Against her better judgment, she glanced down. Beyond the dim outline of Bellamy was only black, empty space. She had never considered herself particularly afraid of heights or of the dark, but then again, she had never climbed a shoddy old ladder through an endless abyss of black. 

“We can take a break if you need it.” Bellamy offered as he pulled a glow-stick from his jacket, cracked it and gave it a good shake. It filled the space between them with an eerie yellow-green glow. He pressed it between his own teeth so that it illuminated his face like some kind of monster from the deep or an alien from the unknown. 

“No... I’m OK.” Clarke breathed. “We can’t waste time sitting around. Plus I don’t see any benches around here, do you?” She tried to laugh, but her throat was still tight from the sudden rush of fear and adrenaline and it came out as some kind of wild noise. “Just watch your step on the fifth rung up...” She muttered sarcastically. “It’s a little loose.” 

And she took a deep breath and started again. Wrap and pull... Wrap and pull... Fucking wrap and fucking pull. 

 

By the time Clarke ran out of rungs to wrap her fists around every muscle in her body was screaming with the effort of staying attached to the ladder. Her fingers had cramped themselves into tight C’s like lobster claws and she doubted whether she’d ever be able to give Raven another proper high five. 

She paused at the top as Bellamy dug through the folds of his massive jacket with one arm, clinging confidently to the ladder with the other, like some kind of monkey. He handed her her gas mask and she reluctantly pulled it over her nose and mouth, feeling ironically like she might suffocate in its tight embrace of her face. Bellamy pulled his own mask on and Clarke tried not to look at him because all she could see was a Mountain Man and it made her think of skin melting off of bones and drill-bits driving into flesh, and levers, and the terrible loneliness in the empty space beside her then, and beside her now. The space that Bellamy had tried to fill for her then, and was still trying to fill for her now. The space that was only ever meant to be filled by Lexa. 

Bellamy pulled the gas bomb that Arkadia had scrounged, courtesy of the Mountain Men, before the entire mountain had been destroyed, courtesy of Azgeda, from his cloak and handed it to Clarke. Clarke clutched it in her lobster claw, half expecting Bellamy to pull a battering ram from his coat next. Instead, he pulled out a small crowbar and wedged its tip between the closed elevator doors. A crack of flickering light assaulted Clarke’s pupils and she blinked against it as she gripped the gas canister’s ring between her shaking thumb and forefinger. Then, despite the mask on her face, she held her breath as she pulled the pin and tossed the erupting can through the crack. And she did not breathe again until Bellamy pried the crack open enough to squeeze through and reached out a solid hand to pull her through. 

 

***

OCTAVIA

The pounding of the war drums cannot keep pace with the rapid pounding in my ears, the drumbeat of my own heart. The drums are growing louder, drawing nearer and as I wait, I feel like every inch of me is itching, just below the skin where my nails cannot reach. Helios’s tail whips anxiously back and forth. He tosses his head side to side. I wonder if he is itching too. 

The drumbeat echoes through the forest but I have yet to catch a glimpse of the approaching enemy. I imagine they are flooding the forest, washing through it like a wave, swirling around the trunks of the trees, parting and coming back together again like water. And I know Trishana is perched in the branches above them like owls silently watching their prey scuttle across the forest floor. And I wonder if Malika sits with an arrow drawn, battling her desire to release it, fighting against the itch. But Trishana has patience and they allow the wave to crest. They are luring the enemy in.

I see the flickering orange-yellow glow of patches of fire first. And I’m struggling to make sense of what I assume must be torches, when faces finally appear between the trees. Faces, faces, and more faces. I am reminded of the night Trikru massed against the dropship and the paltry three hundred warriors surrounding us seemed like an endless ocean. Now I stand amongst Trikru and our numbers are more than three hundred, and still I have the same feeling of smallness, like standing on the edge of the sea. Because, once again, my crew is hopelessly outnumbered. But we stood against the three hundred and now we stand again against the countless.

The sea of faces spills from the trees and pauses, forming a wall on the edge of the forest. The drumbeats rise to a deafening crescendo I can feel reverberating in my chest, vibrating through the soft spots between my bones. 

“Boom! Boom! Boom-di-boom!” Then... Abrupt silence.

The sudden silence presses against my eardrums. The drums of war have stopped but the drum in my chest beats louder still and the beat still reverberates through every hollow spot within me, still vibrates in my bones. 

The field of open space dividing the walls of Arkadia from the trees of the surrounding forest is all that stands between our two armies. And hundreds of eyes stare across it, waiting. Hundreds of lungs hold their breaths, waiting. We are all waiting for the same thing... Waiting, waiting, waiting for someone to step into the gap.

One moment passes and I am itching.

Two moments and I’m itching. I’m itching.

Three moments and I’m itching, itching, itching.

And the itch is more than I can bear. 

So I dig my heel into Helios and it is like digging my nails into my skin and deeper still, into the bloody parts of me. I raise my sword and I raise my voice and the cry is part joy and part rage, and part pure wildness, colder and sharper than the steel. And I charge into the empty space because I have to scratch the itch. 

I breathe out. And just like that, everything ends. I breathe in. And just like that, everything begins.

 

***

CLARKE

Bellamy shoved the lift doors shut again as Clarke reached into her own pockets and pulled out a handful of the zipties. She ziptied the elevator doors shut and followed Bellamy silently through the Commander’s outer chambers, bypassing the six unconscious bodies sprawled along the floor. They would come back for them. Clarke kept her eyes fixed on the blue-gray back of Bellamy’s jacket, because the walls around her held too many memories. And she couldn’t let them in right now. She needed to be able to think. She needed to be able to breathe.

They paused outside the doors leading into the throne room and the bedroom beyond it, and even with her eyes focused on the blue-gray, even with the doors still closed... Clarke could see every detail of the rooms before them. She saw the massive throne that Lexa’s petite frame had somehow always still managed to fill with both power and grace. She saw the spot on the chamber floor that to everyone else was only a spot, but to her was the place where Lexa had knelt before her and her own legs had nearly given out beneath her at the overwhelming depths of the gesture. She saw the chair on which she had perched as she drew the soft curves of Lexa, relishing the simplicity of the moment, like life had paused just for her, giving her a chance to breathe and just to be... To be with Lexa.

And she saw the place where Lexa had stood in the dappled golden sunlight, her hair over one shoulder, her eyes glistening with the effort of holding back the tears, and had let Clarke go, because she understood... The spot where Clarke had finally decided she did not want to go, EVER, because she belonged with Lexa, and she had closed the inches between them because even that was a distance far too great... The spot where she had finally forgotten about the needs of everyone else and had let herself have something SHE wanted, something SHE needed... The spot beside the bed in which she had lain in Lexa’s arms and let herself dream. 

And Clarke squeezed her closed eyes as tightly as she could until the white spots flickered behind her lids. And she shook her head. And she tried to force the memories back. Because she needed to be able to think right now. She needed to be able to breathe. 

She opened her eyes again to see Bellamy frowning at her curiously. He silently handed her a second gas canister and prepared to smash the butt of his rifle into the double doors. But he stopped himself just before metal met wood, and with a small, crooked smile reached out to grasp the handles in his fingers. He gave them a gentle push and they cracked open easily. Clarke tossed the hissing canister through the crack and pulled the doors shut again, waiting, for one moment... Two... Listening for the thuds of flesh on stone. 

 

*** 

OCTAVIA

I hear the pop-pop-pop of gunfire break loose behind me as I charge across the clearing, and before I reach the wall of warriors, already pieces of it fall here and there like bricks coming loose and crumbling. 

A rider streaked in white rushes to greet me and I brace myself, gripping Helios’s sides between my knees as I rise in the saddle and rear my sword back. Our blades collide with such force that I’m nearly thrown from the saddle. My teeth rattle and I taste blood on the tip of my tongue. The vibration bursts like an electric shock through my fingers but I grip my blade fiercely, the way Lincoln taught me to...as fiercely as if his hands were still wrapped around mine now. 

Neither blade met flesh and I’m tempted to turn Helios around and pursue the rider. But he is still racing towards the gates and I am racing towards the forest. And I let him go because there are others... So many others.

Most of their warriors are on foot and they are charging across the clearing towards me and when we finally meet, it is like waves breaking against rock. I cut them down around me and the blood splashes against my arms and legs like the salty spray of the sea. I cut and I cut and I cut. I scratch, I scratch, I scratch. And every itchy inch of me feels alive, alive, alive. 

The storm has come. And I am its eye. And there is chaos all around me. 

I am on the edge of forest and field. Before me I see the glow of arrows raining out of the treetops, falling on the enemy like shooting stars. Behind me I hear the symphony of battle playing like music in my ears... The clanging of steel against steel like cymbals... The steady pop-pop-popping of gunfire keeping rhythm like a snare drum... The bass of pounding horse hooves... The trumpet cries of rage... And the piercing notes of pain like so many out-of-tune violins. 

The music builds and swells and flows within me even as I drown it all out and all I hear is my own rapid breathing, and Helios’s snorts and whinnies, and the sound of my blade sinking into flesh. I see everything around me. I see nothing but what’s in front of me, at the end of my blade.


	28. Wolves, Bears, and Pacifists Breaking Teeth

28  
Wolves, Bears, and Pacifists Breaking Teeth

 

CLARKE

“Good evening, King Arlen of Azgeda. Nice of you to join us.” Clarke said as the man’s glassy eyes finally rolled open. The man looked nothing like his older brother. He was smaller than Clarke had imagined, lean, almost scrawny. His thin, lank, shoulder-length hair was so blond it was almost white and his eyes were the translucent light blue of a frozen lake that shined in stark contrast to the sheer darkness of his black pupils. He wore a gray-white cloak elegantly trimmed in furs that was so thick Clarke got the impression he was trying to compensate for his small stature. And the glistening golden crown perched on his head was askew from his recent collision with the floor. 

The man pushed himself into a seated position, struggling against the zipties around his wrists and ankles, so tight that the plastic cut into his flesh and made little crimson rings in his skin. His icy eyes darted around the chamber, taking in his bound and gagged guards, lighting on Bellamy, and then finally narrowing on Clarke. 

“Ai laik Clarke kom Skaikru.” She said coldly, as the man glared. “And I need you to do us ALL a favor... And call off your attack... before you kill us all. If Skaikru falls, Azgeda falls with it. If sky burns... Ice will burn with it.”

 

“Call off the attack.” Clarke repeated.   
“And why exactly would I do that, Sky-Rat?” The king snarled in reply. His voice was cold and greasy, limp and salty, like day-old french fries.

“Because we have a gun to your head?” Bellamy suggested, releasing the safety on his rifle and pointing its tip at the narrow space between Arlen’s icy eyes. 

“Do I look like I am afraid of death, boy?” Arlen asked. And his voice was full of anger, contempt, and aggression, but Clarke could not detect any notes of fear in it. 

“If you are not afraid of death, why are you sitting like a coward here, while your army marches without you? Why are you not leading your people into battle?” Bellamy asked.

“A leader with TRUE power does not have to be present to inspire loyalty in his people. His subjects are obedient. And his words alone are enough to spur them on to victory or to death. My people kill for me. Or they die for me.” 

“Call off the attack.” Clarke repeated impatiently. 

“The butchers’ knives have already been sharpened.” Arlen growled. “The cook fire has been lit. Killing me will not save your people from the slaughter that has been prepared for them. Arkadia will roast and not a single rat will escape the spit.”

“If Skaikru burns, so does Azgeda.” Clarke repeated.

“So you said.” Arlen replied lazily. “And yet, we both know that is a lie. The only reason you rats have snuck into my chambers is because your people have no chance of standing against my forces. You think that nibbling at my toes will frighten me into calling off the exterminator. But my crew will not pull back until Arkadia is nought but ash and blood and twisted metal. And every rat will die in the rubble. Only then will my fist pull back. Only then will the might of Arkadia relent.”

“You’re right,” Admitted Clarke. “Unless you call your people back, they will eliminate all of Skaikru. Then they will return to ice and snow and the cold will become their tomb. There is a sickness coming... A sickness for which only Skaikru has a remedy. If you eliminate Skaikru, you eliminate the cure and every man, woman, and child in Azgeda will die, along with every other Grounder in every other clan. No one will be able to escape the sickness. But it will come for Azgeda first.”

King Arlen narrowed his eyes further at her words, suspicion and disbelief etched in the lines between his furrowed brows. “A sickness for which only Skaikru has the remedy?” He let out a cold, mirthless laugh. “Tell me, girl... Have you ever chipped a man’s teeth out one-by-one with an ice-pick?”

Clarke frowned in confusion at the ridiculous question as Arlen continued. “That man will say anything to end the pain. Lie after lie until every last tooth is gone and the only sound that escapes his mouth is the gurgling of him choking on his own blood.”

“It is not a lie.” Clarke spat. “Nuclear power plants are failing and radiation levels are rising. Three of the largest failing plants are in Azgeda territory... The sickness is coming, and Azgeda will have the worst of it. It will start with the weak... The children and the elderly... vomiting and diarrhea, headache and fever, dizziness and fatigue, hair loss... And it will only end in death. Perhaps some of your crew are already showing symptoms?”

The man’s eyes flashed at her words. It was subtle. It was quick. But Clarke had seen it. The radiation poisoning was already beginning in Azgeda, and King Arlen had seen the signs even if he had not understood them. But the scowl on his face remained as fierce as ever. 

“Why should I believe you?” He questioned. “A wolf cornered, even when hopelessly surrounded and outnumbered, will still snarl and bare its teeth. You are nothing but a wild animal issuing empty threats in the face of your destruction.”

Clarke pulled the sword from her hip. Arlen eyed it but still gave no signs of fear. He feared neither steel nor bullet. But the blade was not meant for him. Clarke ran her blistered, raw palm across its edge, letting it tear the tender skin apart. Then she raised her hand over Arlen’s face just as Queen Nia had once done to her with Ontari’s hand, and let the blackness drip from her to paint his skin the color of Trikru.

“You are a Nightblood?” The man asked. And for just one moment, the surprise and confusion in his voice almost overpowered the contempt. 

“It’s the cure.” Clarke answered. “Nightblood is the cure. Only those with the night running through their veins will survive the long night that is to come. And only Skaikru knows how to create the darkness.” She paused to lean into the man, her face drawing nearly as close to his as the tip of Bellamy’s gun. “Call off the attack.”

The king watched the darkness drip like ink from Clarke’s hand as if she were clutching a busted pen in her fist.

“No.” He answered.

“No?” Clarke echoed in surprise.

“No.”

“You would doom your own people?”

“I do not believe you, Sky-Rat.” He answered flatly. “I’ll admit, the blood was a fine trick. Borrow some from little Luna, did you? But I will not fall for your lies. There is no sickness. No cure. Only empty threats, the snarls of a wild creature backed into a corner... Even if there WERE a sickness. Even if Skaikru HAD the cure... Why should I believe Skaikru will ever share the remedy with Azgeda?”

“I give you my word.” Clarke answered. “If you call off the attack, Skaikru will provide every citizen of Azgeda with the serum... Life in exchange for the promise of peace.”

“Promises are rarely honored between enemies.” Arlen countered.

“I give you my word.” Clarke repeated, her frustration growing. Every wasted minute was one her friends and family spent struggling to keep the snapping jaws of Death at bay.

“Your word?” He curled his lip. “What is that? The empty promises and pathetic pleas of a man with a pick to his teeth.”

“You are wrong!” Clarke shouted. “I speak only truth. Call off the attack or you doom your people!”

“I doom YOUR people.”

“You doom YOURSELF.” Bellamy cut in, now fully pressing the tip of his rifle’s barrel against the flat of Arlen’s forehead. 

“I am not afraid of you, boy.” The king spat. And Clarke knew he spoke the truth.

“No, maybe not.” Bellamy conceded. “But THEY are.” He added, nodding in the direction of the bound and gagged guards scattered throughout the room.

“Tell us how to call off the attack,” Bellamy bellowed. “Or we execute your king.”

 

Clarke scanned the faces of the room. A few wide eyes. A few wriggling jaws. But no one struggled against their bindings. No one tried to cry out through their gags.

“My men are obedient.” The king growled. 

“Or perhaps they just have no love for their king.” Bellamy countered.

“No one in this room will tell you how to call off the attack.” The king spat. “All of your people will die tonight. You cannot stop it. And outside of these chambers, my guards wait for you. YOU will die tonight.”

“YOU will die tonight.” Clarke corrected him. “You have one final shot... Tell us how to call off the attack.”

“No.” The king answered. “I will not tell you, and neither will they.”

Bellamy fixed his eyes on Clarke’s, and though not a word was spoken, the exchange was fully understood. 

“Oh... I think they will.” Clarke answered through clenched teeth as she gave Bellamy the smallest of nods. “Once we start breaking teeth.”

 

***

OCTAVIA

 

There is a sharp stinging running like fire down the length of my shin. Another strip of pain flares across my opposite thigh. And I know I am bleeding. But it doesn’t matter, because I am still alive, alive, alive. 

My eyes focus on the next warrior standing her ground before me and suddenly the strange patches of fire I saw in the trees makes sense. She is not holding a torch. She is clutching a long, slender whip. Its tightly woven fibers are fashioned from some kind of synthetic material that glistens almost like glossy plastic. And apparently it’s non-flammable because the last foot of the rope dangling from her fist is dipped in some kind of pith and swirling yellow-orange flames climb up and down its length. The woman’s face is painted in soft yellows and burnt oranges that make me think of sun and sand. But the black centers of her eyes are filled with nothing but fire. 

She cracks her flaming whip mere inches from Helios’s nose and suddenly I feel him rear up beneath me. His terrified whinny pierces my ears and rings right through me. My knees gripping his sides cannot hold. And just like that, I am falling backwards through air and nothingness.

The ground slams into me from behind and the air rushes from my chest in a “humph,” as if to say, ‘well, these lungs are doomed... Let’s go find another pair.’ My breath has abandoned me and so has Helios. He bolts into the trees, leaving me on the ground behind him... The big shit.

The woman smiles sickly as she looms over me, slowly stepping towards me as I frantically scramble backwards on my ass. I am still struggling to catch my breath, scuttling like a crayfish out of the water. I reach for my sword lying in the dead leaves beside me, but before I can wrap my fingers around the steel, the whip wraps around my wrist. A serpent of fire curls itself around my forearm, eating its way through my sleeve so that it can lick at my flesh. I cannot pull myself free of the serpent’s hold and I roll onto my side, desperately reaching for my blade with my free arm so I can behead this serpent, sever the rope.

But the woman gives a sharp tug on the rope and I’m yanked forward so violently that I’m sure my flaming arm will be ripped right from its socket. Flames licking at my flesh. Flames in my shoulder, deeper than my flesh... Down in the sinew and the tendons and the bones. I am burning, burning, burning alive. And I feel every ounce of the pain because I am still alive, alive, alive.

The woman drags me forwards again and she is still smiling as she pulls a long blade from her hip with her free hand. And I am unarmed, sprawled on my belly in the dirt and leaves and pebbles. And I am struggling to push myself up with my good arm because I am stubborn and there is still fight left in me. And I am not afraid, even as I can think of no way out of this situation. And I wonder if maybe this woman will stab me through the eye, because death would be a mercy. But judging by her smile, I’m thinking she wants to have some fun.

The woman stands directly over me now and she raises her arm and I brace myself for the bite of the blade. And then I blink in utter confusion because the woman is stumbling backwards, a shaft of steel protruding from the depths of her stomach. And it was not a spear that skewered her. It was a trident. 

The woman doubles over and falls to the ground as I desperately pry the flaming whip from my melting flesh. The rope peels entire layers of my skin with it and I fight the urge to vomit. But now is not the time to fall apart. So I pull my eyes from my ruined flesh and search for the warrior who just saved my life. 

The woman now standing over me doesn’t have black or green or silver or browns painted across her face, but rather streaks of blue and gray like seafoam, like the color of the ocean on a cloudy day. And her bushy dark hair is almost as wild as her eyes. 

 

“Luna?” I stutter, lost in complete shock at her sudden appearance. And it is not the first time I’ve wondered to myself where the fuck this woman just came from. She extends a hand and I grasp it in my good arm and allow her to help me to my feet. 

“Am I too late?” She asks with a wild laugh. “Have I missed all the fun?”

I’m still too shocked to speak it, but the thought runs through my mind, ‘nope... Not late at all... Right on time... Right the fuck on time.’

Luna releases my arm and pulls a knife from some pocket so quickly it is like she plucked it right out of the chilly night air. She spins on the spot, and the blade nearly grazes my cheek as it flies past me to lodge into the Adam’s apple of an Azgeda warrior charging behind me. Then she pushes right past me, now brandishing a sword, to finish the job she started. She delves the blade into the man’s core even as I retrieve my own from the forest floor, grateful that Lincoln was able to resist my sexy wiles and forced me to focus the day he taught me how to fight left-handed. 

I stand beside Luna, half expecting to see her pull a mace or a fucking javelin from the folds of her cloak next. And though she pretends to be a pacifist, by the wild glint in her eyes I can tell that, like me and Malika, and the woman with the goddamn whip... Luna is ENJOYING this. And I know in this moment that though this woman left the forest for the sea, she was born and raised Trikru. And her black blood is still the blood of Trikru... The blood of a warrior. Because you can chop a tree down at its trunk, but its roots will long remain buried deep in the earth. 

And Luna and I stand back to back... Two Trikru warriors with steel in our hands... Two bears surrounded by wolves. 

 

*** 

CLARKE

 

The sharp “pop” of a single round from Bellamy’s rifle rang through the room, echoing off the stone as Arlen’s body lurched sideways onto the floor and went limp. And Clarke watched the blood drain from his forehead and collect in a puddle on the stone floor. And she forced herself to memorize its sharp shade of scarlet, because even though Bellamy pulled the trigger, this blood would leave another stain on her hands, another stain she could never wash herself clean of.

“So...” Bellamy stood and began to pace the perimeter of the chambers. “Who is going to be the one who tells us how to call off Azgeda’s attack?” 

“Everything I told your king was absolutely true.” Clarke spoke out, hoping SOMEONE in this room had the courage to listen to reason. “Azgeda needs the serum Skaikru has developed. Your brothers and sisters... Your mothers and fathers... Your children.... Eveyone you love... will die without the serum. Tell us how to stop the attack and I promise you we will provide all of Azgeda with the remedy. Enough blood has been spilled. Skaikru blood... Azgeda blood... Blood has answered blood on both sides. It’s time to stop the senseless slaughtering of each other and to work together to save lives.”

Clarke looked from one face to another, from one pair of eyes to the next, searching for the glint of compassion or understanding. She pulled a pistol from the insides of her jacket and picked a random forehead. She cocked the chamber and called out to the room. “Enough blood has already been spilled.” She repeated, her voice pleading, shaky. “Enough lives have been wasted. Please don’t make me take another.”

Clarke stared into the defiant brown eyes of a man she did not know. A man she neither loved nor hated. A man with a heart and a soul and a life that was not hers to take, and yet rested in her hands, nevertheless. And she hated the feel of the gun in her hand, the tension of the trigger against her fingertip. If she had her way, she would never fire a gun again. But if she had to, she would execute every person in this room one-by-one until someone spoke up. 

“Three.” Clarke called through the room... Waiting.

“Two.” Waiting, waiting.

“One.” She gripped the trigger, waiting... Waiting... Wai-

“Hhhmmmm.” A muffled murmur, a garbled plea, and Clarke released her finger and lowered the gun with a deep breath.

She turned to see Bellamy pulling the rags from a woman’s mouth across the chamber. “Wait!” The woman gasped. “This sickness that you speak of... You’re sure you have a cure? You’re sure it works?”

“I tested it on myself.” Clarke answered. “I have put my faith in it. If it fails, I die. We ALL die, together. My crew is working right now on multiplying the serum, but we could work a whole lot more efficiently without the threat of immediate extinction by slaughter competing with the threat of approaching extinction by sickness.” 

“My daughter fell ill four days ago and our healer could not explain why. You promise you will share your serum with Azgeda... With my daughter?”

“You have my word.” Clarke answered, staring into the woman’s eyes, hoping the woman could see the sincerity in her own. “I seek to save lives. I only want peace. Peace for my people and yours.”

“Three blasts of the horn.” The woman said, nodding towards a man glaring at her from the corner of the room. “Long and slow.” 

Bellamy crossed the room and kicked the man from his knees onto his side, rolling him over, searching him. Finally he pulled a curved horn from the man’s hip.Then he pulled a knife from his own hip, cut the ziptie securing the woman’s ankles, and pulled her to her feet. He led her out onto the balcony and held the horn to the woman’s slips. 

“Do it.” He commanded.

The woman breathed in and so did Clarke. And the deep blaring of the horn echoed in the chambers and in her chest and out into the night. One blast. Two blasts. Three.

And from somewhere out in the distant forest she heard another horn echo the first. One blast. Two blasts. Three. 

And Clarke breathed in and out. One breath. Two breaths. Three. 

 

*** 

OCTAVIA

I lose track of my injuries. I lose track of the number of men I’ve killed. I’m soaked in sweat and in blood. My own blood... The blood of my enemies... It is all just a red stain on my clothes, just crimson dripping down my skin. I’m sweating and I’m bleeding and I’m breathing. I am alive, alive, alive.

I just barely dodge the stone and instead of smashing into my nose, it grazes my cheek, taking a slice of me with it as I lunge forward and sideways, cutting my sword diagonally through the air. And I’m pulling the blade from the crevice of the Rockslinger’s neck and shoulder when it sounds through the night... A horn... Deep, loud, low, and long. 

The Boudalan warrior crumples to the ground and I pry the serrated jaws of his climbing pick from the flesh of my thigh as the horn cuts through the night a second time, blaring a deep, deep baritone note that drowns out the music of the battle. All around me warriors pause to turn their heads to the sky, listening. Their blades drop to their sides in their limp arms. Everyone seems as confused as I am. Someone has hit the pause button again. And for one moment we all just breathe as the horn blares a third time. 

One breath. Two breaths. Three.

Then the moment passes and I watch in utter confusion as all around us the faces are disappearing back into the shadows of the trees from which they came, like a wave being pulled back into the ocean. Here and there warriors finish the personal battles they are engaged in, but as soon as one drops to the ground, the other either joins the receding tide or stands on the shore, blinking stupidly like me.

Azgeda is retreating. Azgeda is retreating. Azgeda is retreating.

And I’m still alive, alive, alive.


	29. Scratches and Staples

29  
Scratches and Staples

 

OCTAVIA

 

I am alive. But I no longer FEEL alive. The adrenaline, the rush, the high, is receding as quickly as our enemy. And as it leaves, the pain rushes in to fill its absence. Every inch of me is throbbing or aching or burning or stinging. My calf, my thigh, my rib cage, my shoulder, my whole fucking arm... Everything hurts. But the worst of the pain is what is aching on the inside. Because the excitement is gone. The itch is gone. Even the anger is strangely absent. And, in my exhaustion, all that is left is the goddamn emptiness.

I hear Luna panting beside me and I feel her weight press into me and I collapse to the ground alongside her. And we just lean against each other, struggling to breathe against the pain. For the first time, I notice the shaft of the arrow sticking out ridiculously from the back of my bum ankle, just above the Achilles. It’s tip is lodged into the plaster of my cast and I cannot say just how long it has been sticking out of me. I wrench it free of the cast and toss it aside. And I can’t even find the strength to laugh at the irony of it. All I can do is breathe.

“So...” Luna groans from beside me. She has an arm wrapped around her middle, clutching the spot between her ribs and her hip, the spot in my side that always aches when I run too fast. “Did we win?”

“You’re hurt, Luna.” I comment, stupidly.

I grit my teeth against my own pain and turn towards her to get a closer look at her side. But she won’t let me pry her hands from the wound.

“It’s nothing, just a scratch. Just the little prick of an ice pick.” She says, trying to push herself up, but falling back to her elbows with a sharp gasp.

“What are you doing here, Luna?” I ask because I am still surprised. She was the last person I expected to have fighting and bleeding and struggling for breath by my side. “I thought you didn’t want your clan involved in war.”

“I didn’t.” She chokes out, between sharp, shallow breaths. “I came alone... For Lexa.”

“Well... I’m glad you came.” I say softly. It is the closest thing to a ‘thank you’ I can get out of me.

“I’m not.” Luna tries to chuckle and doubles over, coughing instead. And I watch in horror as a fresh layer of black blood coats her palm and seeps from between her fingers. Once the coughing passes she starts to shake and I am worried. 

I set my jaw and muster my strength and push myself through the pain and the exhaustion and onto my shaky feet. 

“Come on...” I say, hooking my good arm under her armpit and around her shoulder blades. “We have to get you to medical.” 

Luna is too weak to fight me. But she is too weak to help me either, and by the time I manage to pull her onto her feet I feel dizzy and weak on my own. Luna leans heavily against my good shoulder and it’s all I can do to stay upright as we hobble through the mass of bodies around us. Some are twisted, broken, severed and still. Others are writhing, slowly dying. Others crawl, trying to find the strength to rise. Still others just sit there dazed, as if all they can focus on is learning how to breathe again. 

I don’t make it five steps before my legs give out under the added weight of Luna and we crumple to the ground in a tangled mess. Luna cannot walk and I cannot carry her and the panic is rising. 

“Help!” I call out into the night. “Someone help me!”

All that answers me are the moans and groans of the dying. 

“Someone help me!” I cry again, swiveling my head around, looking in all directions, for someone... Anyone. Here and there I spot warriors on their feet, some limping across the field towards Arkadia, some propped against each other hobbling together, others kneeling over their own wounded. No one pays me any mind. I am just another body crying in the night. 

Luna is shaking harder now. Her eyes are unfocused, glazed and rolling.

“Hold on, Luna.” I whisper to her. “Stay with me. Hold on.”

I have no other choice. I have to leave her. 

“I’ll be back.” I promise. And I clench my teeth and push myself to my feet, forcing my legs to hold. I turn towards the gates and slam directly into a wall and suddenly I am on my ass again. 

I blink up at the wall before me even as it bends and scoops Luna into its arms. The green and silver on his face is smeared with crimson like a four-year-old decided to decorate him for Christmas. The shaft of an arrow sticks out of his left bicep and another protrudes from his right thigh. But he doesn’t seem to notice, and Turlino doesn’t even limp as he carries Luna across the sea of blood and bodies to the metal gates of Arkadia. 

 

The infirmary is so crowded that there are wounded sitting propped up against the walls in the hallway outside of it, slowly bleeding as they wait for someone to notice them, someone to tend to them. Inside, the room is complete chaos. There are far too many patients and far too few medics. 

I spot Abby in the corner crouched over a cot, shouting instructions to the panicked Jackson beside her. I’ve never seen Abby look so stressed. I’ve never seen Abby looked so focused.

“Abby!” I call out to her. “Abby! Help, it’s Luna!”

Abby frowns at the limp body in Turlino’s massive arms. 

“We don’t have any open cots.” She says, biting her lip.

“Here!” Someone shouts from a few cots over. I turn in surprise to see Murphy lifting someone off of a cot. “Here. Put her here.”

Turlino gently sets Luna onto the cot as Murphy, limping, drops the other person onto the floor beside the wall with a grunt. He sees me watching him and gives me a sad shrug as he grabs a pair of crutches leaning on the wall and slides them beneath his armpits. “That poor guy didn’t need his cot anymore.”

Turlino tuns to leave and I grasp his wrist.

“There are others out there.” He says, simply before I even open my mouth.

I want to thank him, but my mouth is too dry, my tongue too swollen, so I just nod and release him.

Abby hovers over Luna, jumping into action. She tears Luna’s shirt open and all I see is black. It’s as if someone spilled a bottle of ink down her stomach and side. A huge black gash runs diagonally from just below her armpit nearly to her navel, and even as I watch more of the darkness spills from it.

“She needs blood.” Abby says, her voice simultaneously calm and urgent. “Murphy, get Jackson. Tell him we need a transfusion set-up stat... Murphy!”

Murphy jolts at the bark. He had been staring at the blackness stupidly, looking like he might vomit. He glances at Abby quickly, his eyes wide. He still looks like he might puke any second. But he nods, turns, and hobbles off. 

“Put pressure on the wound.” Abby instructs me, handing me a pad of gauze. I do as I’m told, watching in confusion as Abby suddenly pulls off her med-coat and rolls up her long-sleeved shirt. She’s rubbing the crook of her elbow with an orange solution when Jackson arrives brandishing a bag of blood, a mess of tubes, and a giant needle. He looks at Abby with the same confusion on his panicked face. 

“That blood won’t work.” Abby says simply, now cleaning the crook of Luna’s elbow. 

“It’s O negative.” Jackson replies, still confused.

Abby doesn’t bother to reply as she pulls the needle and tubing out of Jackson’s hands. She works rapidly, yet smoothly, an expert at her craft. 

“That’s a...” I nearly jump at the words suddenly leaving Luna’s lips. She’s regained consciousness, but just barely. Her eyes are still rolling and she struggles to focus them on Abby’s hand perched over her arm. “REALLY, REALLY big needle.” 

I would laugh if I wasn’t struggling just to keep breathing. Abby doesn’t hesitate. She clamps the tubing and drives the needle into Luna’s vein without so much as a “3-2-1.” Then she holds her own arm out to Jackson.

“Abby?” Jackson’s eyes are even wider with panic and confusion. 

“She needs MY blood, Jackson.” Abby says simply. “Now.”

Jackson just stares at her like she’s gone mad. “But... What about the other patients? We need you on the floor. I can’t handle all this alone...”

“Jackson...” Abby says calmly. “She’s already lost too much blood. You need to do this now, or she will die.”

Jackson hesitates one final moment before accepting the needle and tubing from Abby and driving a needle into her own arm. Jackson unclamps the tubing and I watch in shock as black blood creeps down the tube from Abby’s arm to Luna’s.

“You’re a Nightblood?” My brain feels like its going to explode from the worry and the adrenaline and the utter, utter, confusion.

“Not yet...” Abby answers. “But hopefully I’m close enough. Jackson, go back to the others. Murphy... Rubbing alcohol and the stapler... Go.”

“Is she going to be OK?” I ask, surprised at the crack of fear in my voice.

“If the blood takes.” Abby answers in a tone that sounds to me like ‘I have no fucking clue, but I hope so.’

Abby sits down on the edge of the cot, clenching and unclenching her fist, looking just a tad woozy as the blood drains from her. “OK, Murphy... Just like the others...” She says softly as Murphy reappears, leaning on one crutch while holding a staple gun and a bottle of alcohol in his other hand.   
“Slow and easy... Alcohol first.”

Murphy still looks like he’s fighting back the vomit. His lip is curled and there is fear in his eyes. But he pushes my hands away from Luna’s side, exposes the gash, uncaps the bottle of alcohol and starts pouring it over the wound. At the sting of it, Luna lets out a gasp and her unfocused eyes fall on mine as Murphy sets to work with the staple gun. And I suddenly realize there are tears in my own eyes.

“You can’t die, Luna.” My words are a whisper, but I feel like I’m shouting them with every ounce of my being. Because my body is so broken, but the pain of my shoulder and arm and legs is nothing compared to the pain I’ve been carrying inside of me since the moment Lincoln fell into the mud. Because, as broken as I am on the outside, I am far more shattered on the inside. And no staple gun can put me back together again. And I am tired of the anger and the loneliness and the emptiness.And I can’t carry them anymore. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.

“You can’t die, Luna.” I repeat, my voice cracking in desperation. “Because I need you. I need you to teach me...” Luna’s eyes hold mine for half a second before rolling back into her head. And I am wondering if she understood me even as I watch her eyelids drop. 

 

“You can’t do anything for her now, Octavia. You need to get your own wounds looked at.” Abby’s voice is soft and soothing like a mother’s but she eyes me up and down like a doctor. Her eyes linger on the charred skin of my forearm. “There’s a boy from one of the other clans over there who has an herbal ointment for burns more effective than anything we ever had on the Ark. Get him to clean that. Don’t worry... I’ll be with her. I’m not going anywhere.” She nods to the tube in her arm with a sad, tired chuckle.

I’m too emotionally and physically drained to argue, even at the prospect of having Teeko be the one to tend my wounds. I wipe at my tears as I cross the room. Already the panic is receding. The desperation inside of me has disappeared as suddenly as it came. And all that is left is the emptiness again. 

But the sound of a familiar voice drifts towards me from Teeko’s corner of the room and I almost find the strength to laugh. Almost.

“Damn it, Teeko! It’s just a scratch! Put away the fucking Crocusjus.”

“You have to let me clean it, Malika... Or else it will get infected. Stop being such a baby, and let me clean it.”

“That stuff burns like a bastard. Touch me with it and I swear I’ll stab you in the eye with a scalpel. Just use the alcohol to clean it.”

“Crocusjus is way more potent and effective.” Teeko answers as I catch sight of the bickering siblings in the corner. “The rhizome extract is not only antiseptic, it’s also anodyne, hypotensive, antispasmodic, febrifuge, and...”

“OK, OK... Just stop!” Malika interrupts him with another fabulous eye-roll. “Does it treat headaches too? Because you’re giving me a major migraine.”

“Actually... If you grind the petal and mix it with powdered...”

“I said stop!” Malika interrupts him again. “Stop talking and just get it over with, then.” 

“We’re going to have to suture the wound closed too.” Teeko adds.

“Whatever... Just get it the fuck over with.”

“The other kid borrowed my staple gun.” Teeko mumbles, before turning and calling out over his shoulder. “Yo, Murphy! Stapler!”

Looking for Murphy, Teeko sees me limping towards him and he immediately sets down the Crocusjus he was threatening his sister with and rushes towards me to assist me. And I wish I was strong enough to refuse his help. But I’m not. 

Seeing his distraction, Malika quietly rises from her cot and tries to limp away silently.

“Hey... I’m not done with you, Malika!” Teeko scolds her and she lets out a long huff as she plunks down on the cot beside me.

“Octavia kom Trikru.” She smiles at me. The beautiful green and silver tree on her face is smudged in red blood and brown dirt, but she is pretty all the same. “You are still breathing.”

“Just barely.” I mumble as Teeko takes my ruined arm in his hands. His eyes are wide and his forehead creased.

“I know...” I say. “It’s fucking bad.”

“No...” Teeko tries to reassure me. “It’s not THAT bad. OK... It’s bad... But I’ve seen Azbluma Ointment heal worse. This is going to sting...” He warns, digging through a sack for a gray-white cream.

“Not as bad as fucking Crocusjus.” Malika sighs.

It stings. I swear it burns as hotly as the actual flames burned as they ate through my flesh. I feel like my skin is melting. I expect to see it dripping right off my bone like wax. But my skin is still attached, the burn snaking up my arm, pinkish-red, shiny, blistering, and tinged black along its edges. It stings. It stings bad. Bad enough to make my breath catch and my eyes water. Bad enough to make me forget the ache inside for one moment. Two moments. Three. And then the burn subsides and is abruptly replaced by a cooling sensation, like I just plunged my arm into a bucket of ice water. I breathe a sigh of relief at the merciful cold. And then I find myself half wishing the burn would return, because with the cold, comes the emptiness again. 

Murphy hobbles up to us as Malika finally succumbs to Teeko and his Crocusjus. “Fuck... Fuck... Fuck... Fuck... Fuck... It burns... It burns... Fuck” She mumbles under her breath and I almost laugh. Almost.

“Don’t worry, you’re getting some Crocusjus too, Octavia.” Teeko smirks at me before turning to Murphy. “Will you staple this one up for me?” He asks, nodding his head at Malika. “Start with her mouth.”

“Fuck... Fuck... Shut up, Teeko! I’ll still stab you in the eye... Fuck... It burns.”

“And stick around for a second.” Teeko adds to Murphy. “This one needs stapled too.”

 

“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.” Murphy admits to me while he staples me back together. My skin still burns like fire where Teeko cleaned the gashes in my thigh and calf, side, and cheekbone. My whole body is a mess. And I relish the burn. And I relish the sharp bite of every staple that snags into my skin. Because every pang is better than the emptiness. 

“I climbed out of my cot just to offer it to someone who needed it more than me.” Murphy adds. “Not because I was volunteering to help. I don’t remember registering for Abby’s goddamn Nurse Training 101 course. She keeps making me staple people up. And clean their wounds and pull knives and arrows out of people. And... I fucking hate blood. Especially black blood.” He shudders and I almost laugh. Almost.

“Why are you helping then?” I ask. Because I haven’t spent more than five minutes in the same room as Murphy since the day he tried to hang my brother. And though I now understand what it’s like to want to hurt, hurt, hurt Bellamy, I don’t understand why the hell Murphy is helping anyone other than himself. This is not the Murphy I remember from the dropship. But, then again, I suppose I am not the Octavia he remembers either.

Murphy just shrugs and adds another staple to my thigh. I relish the bite. “Abby asked me to.” He says. “And she’s a stubborn woman.”

 

***

 

I spend the night in the infirmary because I cannot bear the thought of returning to my room. I’m already struggling to breathe as it is. Normally I would go outside and find a soft, level patch of ground beneath the trees... Beneath the open sky. But that would involve hobbling through the blood and the bodies. And I don’t think I will be able to breathe out there either, not amongst the groans of the dying and the silence of the dead.

So I just accept the strange green powder Teeko gives to me and I give my cot to someone who needs it more. And I curl up on the floor in the corner. And I am utterly exhausted. But I am aching outside and I am aching inside. And I know the sleep will not come. And I am wondering how the hell Teeko’s powder that tastes suspiciously like ground up grass is going to possibly help with anything. And even as I am still scraping the taste from my tongue, my eyelids droop. And I’m not even aware enough to be surprised as sleep takes me.

 

I wake as sore as I ever remember being. Ever. But the blood all over the various parts of my body is caked and dry. My stapled gashes are already showing signs of healing, and the skin on my arm is still an angry red, but already I feel it hardening like leather. I guess Teeko’s love for botany, nerdy as it is, isn’t such a bad thing after all.

I slowly pry my sore ass off the metal floor, and immediately I have to pee. But I hold it, because I need to check on Luna first. The infirmary is still crowded and bustling, but the chaos is receding into commotion. I hobble my way over to Luna’s cot and feel my stomach flip. The girl in Luna’s cot has light, grass green and violet streaks across her face, the markings of Louwoda Kliron. The markings of the enemy. She glares up at me as if to say, ‘what the hell do you want? Unless you’re bringing me a pudding cup, get the fuck away from my cot.’ And I just stare at her blankly, trying to figure out why the hell we are treating the enemy wounded. And trying to figure out why she is not Luna. Because this is LUNA’S cot. 

Except that it wasn’t always Luna’s cot. I think of the man Murphy dumped on the floor to make room for Luna and my stomach stops flipping and drops completely. There can only be one reason this cot was made available... And I’m afraid to look at the floor, lest I see her wild hair strewn across the metal.

 

“Octavia kom Trikru.” A voice calls gently behind me and my heart beats wildly and my stomach flips again. Because the voice is Luna’s. She’s standing behind me, pulling a standard issue gray Arkadia blanket from her shoulders and exchanging it for her dirty, black and red stained coat. 

“Luna?” I stammer, in complete surprise and even more complete confusion. “How are you standing... I thought you were... Are you.... Are you going somewhere?”

“We all are.” A deep, soulful voice answers from the cot behind Luna and I glance around her to spot Indra sitting still and patient as Abby sews stitches into her collarbone. 

“Indra!” I gasp. I am as relieved to see her as I am to see Luna. As relieved... And as confused.

She shoots me a quick smile, just a flash really. But it is enough to make me forget my emptiness for one moment. Two. Maybe three. 

“Clarke has called a meeting of the clans.” Indra says in a tone that indicates she is explaining something. But I am just even more confused at her words.

“CLARKE? CLARKE called a meeting of the clans?” I repeat stupidly. “What do you mean CLARKE called it?”

“I mean exactly what I said.” Indra answers simply. “We leave for Polis as soon as Abby finishes patching me up.”

“Polis?” I am so damn confused. And by their tiny smirks, the women around me seem to find it amusing.

“It’s still the capital. Where else would she hold it?” Indra says in a tone that makes me half-expect her to follow the words with a sassy ‘duh.’

My head is swimming. None of anything they’ve told me so far makes any sense. I’m wondering if maybe Teeko’s grass powder is to blame. I have so many questions I don’t even know where to start. “I thought Azgeda took Polis...”

“Clarke has reclaimed it.” Luna answers.

“How the hell are you going to Polis today? I watched you almost bleed to death last night. How are you even standing?”

Luna shrugs. “I told you it was nothing.”

“She nearly died.” Abby pipes in. “I’ve never seen anyone recover so quickly from that kind of wound before. She shouldn’t even be conscious right now, let alone standing and walking around.”

“I had a good doctor.” Luna chuckles. “Plus that gangly, pimply, sweetheart of a boy put some kind of magical purple potion on the wound for me. And I think maybe, just MAYBE, he has a crush on you, Octavia.” She flashes an evil smirk at me.

I just frown back. “Crocusjus isn’t THAT magical.”

“It’s the blood.” Abby pipes in again, the hint of awe in her voice. “I gave her three liters last night. Jackson tried to stop me at two, but she needed three. Really... I shouldn’t be standing right now either. But I feel fine... Better than fine.”

“Have I thanked you, by the way?” Luna asks.

“About six times.” Abby chuckles.

“How do you even have nightblood?” I blurt out over the women, because the confusion is too much. I can’t make sense of any of it. And I’m worried I will feel the anger rising if they don’t start explaining things more clearly. “And why the hell are you treating enemy wounded?” I ask with a nod towards the Shallow Valley warrior.

“She needed help.” Abby just shrugs.

“She’s the enemy.” I argue, because I feel the anger rising.

“Not anymore.” Indra says. 

And before I can turn my angry glare on her... Before I can shout more questions at the women laughing at me... Luna cuts me off.

“I daresay you will have all of your questions answered at the summit today, Octavia.” She says. “Take a deep breath. Maybe two.”

“Or ten.” Indra suggests as I hobble away from the giggling women, wishing I could stomp properly.


	30. Heda

30  
Heda

 

OCTAVIA

 

Indra, Luna, Rashanna, Roddek, Turlino, Malika, Kane, and Miller all wait patiently for me as I awkwardly hobble to the stables to find a suitable horse. Despite multiple bandages and braces between them all, the leaders and their seconds are laughing and talking easily and the change in the atmosphere from last night to this morning is so dramatic that my head is only spinning faster. At this point, I don’t think I can become any more confused than I already am. At this point, I don’t think anything could surprise me.

But I’m wrong. Because my heart leaps in my chest at the sight of a chestnut brown horse’s ass sticking out from the trough of oats and hay outside of the stables. Helios found his way ‘home’ during the night and except for a few shallow gashes in his sides and rump, he seems perfectly fine.

“Well... Well...” I say as I limp up to him. “If it isn’t the big shit that abandoned me last night...”

He pulls his head from the trough, still mulling the oats around in his giant slobbery mouth, and gives me a look as if to say “Did you really expect me to stick around, with the crazy-ass lady with the fire-whip? You know... Lincoln never made me deal with shit like that...” 

And I just run my fingers through his mane and take a deep breath as I saddle up to join the others. 

 

“Sangedakru is no longer part of the Alliance. There is no Coalition.” The woman’s voice is hot and scratchy as if she carries some of her desert with her in the back of her throat. I glare at her as she glares at Clarke, and I feel the anger rising again. Her hair is lanker, her eyebrows thinner, her chin more pointed, but the yellows and oranges on her face and the fire in her eyes are the same, and all I see when I look at her is the woman with the whip. The charred flesh of my arm still radiates heat, as if the anger has taken hold there too. 

Once again, I am standing between Indra and Luna in the circle of clans. And once again I am struggling against the anger. Inside my pocket I count and recount the ridges of Luna’s shell with my thumb, reminding myself to breathe each time I start again. Fifteen, sixteen... Breathe... One, two. I want to drive my blade into this woman as badly as I wanted to end Ronto, so badly that I am itching again. But I fight the itch. I fight it. I fight it. I fight it. Because Clarke and Indra, and Kane and Luna and Rashanna... They are all here fighting for peace. And the last thing anyone needs is for me to fuck that up by spilling blood all over the chamber’s floor AGAIN.

“That is precisely why we are gathered here today.” Clarke answers, calm and cool in the face of the Sangedakru representative’s hot glare. She hovers on the edge of Azgeda’s delegated chair, as if unsure whether or not to claim it as her own. Bellamy stands silently beside her like an over-sized guard dog. And I try not to look at him. Fifteen, sixteen... Breathe... One, two. 

“To reform the Coalition.” Clarke continues. “And to reinstate all those who agree to it’s terms of peace.”

“And what?” The Sangedakru woman spits. “Become subject to a Sky-Rat commander?”

“I am not the Commander.” Clarke retorts. “Nor do I have any intention of ever becoming Commander.”

“And yet,” The woman hisses. “All I hear from your lips are commands. Sangedakru has no interest in rejoining the Alliance or making peace with Skaikru.”

“Under the terms of Azgeda’s surrender,” Clarke argues. “Azgeda and their allies...” 

“Sangedakru agreed to no such terms.” The woman interrupts. “I don’t believe we were invited to the armistice. I suppose you were too busy murdering Azgeda’s king to remember to issue the invitations.”

“King Arlen attacked my clan.” Clarke retorts. “His death was not murder. He was an unfortunate casualty of the war he began... The war he refused to end.”

“You executed a nation’s king without a trial. You shot him in cold blood in his own chambers.”

“He would have killed us all.” Clarke fires back. The woman’s fiery glare is starting to melt Clarke’s cool facade. I wonder if Clarke is starting to itch too.

“You mean he would have killed all of YOU... Trikru and Skaikru...” The woman spits the names as if they taste bad on her tongue. “And all those foolish enough to stand by their sides.”

“No.” Clarke answers, lowering her voice with a deep breath, fighting to keep her composure. “King Arlen would have killed all of Sangedakru as well. And all of Azgeda, Boudalan and Louwoda Kliron... Every clan on Azgeda’s side, every clan on Skaikru’s side, every clan on no side but their own. King Arlen refused to see reason.” 

“You had a gun to his head.”

“King Arlen declared war on Skaikru.” Indra cuts into the argument in her calm, yet commanding, voice. “His assassination was not a war crime, nor is it the topic of today’s summit. There are far more pressing matters to be discussed than the demise of King Arlen.” She turns her eyes from the Sangedakru representative to Clarke and gives her a firm nod.

“King Arlen would have condemned every man, woman, and child of the thirteen clans to death.” Clarke continues, gleaning strength from Indra’s calm. “There is a sickness coming. A sickness that does not care what color warpaint you streak your cheeks with. A sickness that cannot be battled by blade or bow, cannot be quelled by fire or ice.” 

Clarke pauses, rising to her feet to pace the chamber. “Commander Lexa,” She continues, swallowing hard as if uttering the name causes her physical pain. “Formed the Alliance... United the clans... because she was wise enough to understand that regardless of which clan you call home, deep down, we are all just people trying to survive in a cruel world. Life is already harsh enough without us foolishly trying to slaughter one another. The world, itself, means to destroy us. And battling one another only aids it in its attempts. The sickness that is coming will not discriminate between Sangedakru and Skaikru, Azgeda and Trikru, Floudonkru or Delphikru. It will treat us all with the same cold indifference.”

“What sickness do you speak of, Clarke kom Skaikru?” The ambassador from Yujleda asks.

“The earth is dying.” Clarke answers, her voice is softer, smaller now. But it carries easily through the chamber. For once, everyone is listening. Even the Sangedakru representative, though still scowling, has her mouth shut. “Nuclear plants across the world are melting down as we speak, leaking increasing amounts of radiation into the surrounding environment. Within months, maybe weeks, Grounders from every clan will begin to show signs of radiation poisoning. It has already begun in Azgeda, which is positioned in the center of three of the largest failing plants. Within six months every Grounder, regardless of their clan name, will die of exposure to extreme levels of radiation. And there is only one solution. One way to survive... Skaikru has developed a serum, based on the original serum of the first commander Becca, who was Becca kom SKAIkru before she was Becca kom TRIkru. It is the serum that created the first Nightbloods.”

“Lies.” The Sangedakru woman opens her mouth again. She draws out the ‘s’ of the word like a snake hissing, and again I am reminded of the serpent of fire that climbed my forearm. Though it is not aflame, a long, sleek whip dangles from this woman’s hip too. And I long to wrap it around her neck until she cannot breathe. I long to set fire to its tip and watch the flames caress her skin. Fifteen, sixteen... Breathe... One, two. “Why should we believe a single word you say, Sky-Rat?”

Clarke pulls a blade from her own hip and for one, wild second I think she is about to run it through the Sangedakru woman. I think she is about to succumb to the itch, and I wonder if she will allow me to help her scratch it. But Clarke just holds the blade before her. I’ve never seen her hold a sword before. It looks awkward in her grip, as strange and unnatural as the rifle Indra once held in her arms. Clarke holds out the flat of her palm and runs the blade along a fresh wound, reopening it so that blood drips black as Luna’s from her outstretched fingers.

The silence in the chamber is obliterated by gasps and murmurs.

“I am no Nightblood.” Clarke calls out above the mutterings. “I was not born with black in my veins. Only two days ago I still bled red. But with the help of Luna kom Floudonkru, Skaikru has found a way to replicate the blood of the commanders... the blood of Becca. Nightserum is designed to combat the effects of radiation poisoning, and three doses of the serum is all it takes for the body to start manufacturing nightblood... Developing the ability to metabolize otherwise deadly levels of radiation. Skaikru is currently mass-producing the serum, and under the terms and conditions of the new Alliance, any clan who joins the Coalition will have the right to receive enough Nightserum for every member of their crew.” 

“The terms and conditions of the ALLIANCE?” The man in Boudalan’s seat speaks for the first time in a deep, rocky voice. “You mean the terms and conditions of SKAIKRU. There can be no Coalition without a commander. And Boudalan will never answer to, let alone bow to, a Skaikru commander.”

“Nor will Sangedakru!” The Sangedakru woman shouts.

“Like I said,” Clarke answers, her voice low, but tinged with frustration. “I have no interest in being Commander. But I do agree that if the Alliance is to be successfully reformed, a new commander must be selected.”

“SELECTED?” The Yujleda ambassador speaks, his voice a mixture of suspicion and interest.

“Of course, according to tradition, Luna kom Floudonkru has the greatest claim to the throne, being the only remaining natural-born Nightblood.” Clarke answers. “However, as Luna has shown a past reluctance to accept her birthright, and because nightblood will soon no longer be a rare commodity, I propose that being a natural-born Nightblood no longer be considered a requirement for leadership. I propose the members of this council SELECT the next commander by vote.”

The room breaks out in murmurs again, some clearly angry, most genuinely intrigued by the suggestion.

“The council cannot make such a decision without all of its representatives present.” The Sangedakru ambassador shouts above the rest of the voices. “Azgeda must be given a say in such a matter.”

“The king of Azgeda forfeited his right to a seat in this council along with his life.” Clarke growls back. “I will stand for Azgeda until the next commander appoints a fitting leader from amongst its people.”

“YOU have no...”

“Azgeda...” Turlino suddenly bellows over the scratchy hissing of the Sangedaku woman, effectively silencing the chamber with his gruff, intimidating voice. “Should count itself fortunate to be included in the reformation of the Alliance at all. As should Sangedakru, Boudalan, and Louwoda Kliron. The proposals offered by Clarke kom Skaikru are not only reasonable, they are merciful. Skaikru has no obligation to provide its remedy with those who call them enemy. Trishana seconds Skaikru’s call for a fair election.”

“As does Floudonkru.” Luna speaks from beside me. “And as the last remaining natural-born Nightblood... the person with the greatest claim to the throne... I would like to nominate Indra kom Trikru as the next Commander of the Clans!”

The murmurs begin again, even louder than before. I scan the faces of the room. The woman from Sangedakru has her lip curled back so far I find myself checking her gums for fangs. Boudalan and Louwoda Kliron look confused. Most of the others seem as pleased with the suggestion as I am. Of course Indra should be the next commander. Of course, of course, of course.

But my eyes fall on Indra, sitting beside me, and she is frowning under the glares of every eye in the room, looking more confused than Boudalan and Louwoda Kliron combined. 

“Skaikru seconds that nomination.” Kane speaks for the first time, nearly shouting to be heard over the murmurs. “Indra kom Trikru is not only a fierce warrior, but she embodies each of the qualities in a commander that Commander Lexa kom Trikru valued: compassion, wisdom, and strength.”

“Indra kom Trikru has experience in battle and in the Council’s chambers.” Rashanna adds to Kane’s words. “She is a respected elder of her own clan, and has earned the respect of many amongst the peoples of other clans, mine included. Ingranrona will support the nomination of Indra kom Trikru.”

“Trishana will also stand for Indra kom Trikru.” Turlino belts out. “Indra kom Trikru served closesly under the command of Lexa kom Trikru, working for unity and peace between the clans.”

“Azgeda will also back Indra kom Trikru.” Clarke announces with a wide smile, and I realize that this has been her design from the beginning. “She is all of those things and more. But her greatest leadership quality is that, like Commander Lexa kom Trikru, Indra kom Trikru neither desires nor seeks power. Commander Lexa accepted the burdens of leadership out of a fierce love for her people and an insatiable desire for establishing peace and prosperity for all of her subjects, not only Trikru, but every clan. Indra kom Trikru shares that same love for her people and that same grand vision. And... You can see it written on her face... She understands that being Commander is an immense burden, a responsibility, a weight much heavier than a sash on the shoulder could ever show.”

“Sangedakru will not stand for ANOTHER Trikru commander.” The Sangedakru woman snarls. “It is time we cut down the TRUNKS at the roots, set fire to the forest. ..” I do not like the way she looks at Indra or speaks to Indra or spits the title TRUNKS as if it’s the dirtiest of curse words. The last man who spoke to Indra like this... Well... I nearly beheaded that Rockslinger.I could behead this woman. I could. I could. I could. And I am itching. Fifteen, I count, feeling my fingers shaking as they run over each ridge. Sixteen... Breathe... One, two.

“It is time we burn the woods...” The woman continues. “And build our strength on sand and stone. I nominate King Montu of Boudalan as next Commander.”

The man with the deep, rocky voice rises to his feet. “I accept Yulmina kom Sangedakru’s nomination. The strength of Boudalan has long been overlooked in the shadow of Azgeda. But as Commander, I would continue King Arlen of Azgeda’s vision of strength and might. Peace is the dream of the foolish and the frail. Save the wisdom for the scholars and the compassion for the weak. The Coalition ought to have a commander who is strong and solid as rock, powerful and fierce as the North wind.”

“Very well.” Clarke answers. Her voice is polite and formal as she addresses Montu, but I can see the distaste on her face. “This is a fair election and you are entitled to your own nominations. We have five clans in support of Indra kom Trikru and two in support of Montu kom Boudalan...”

“Indra kom Trikru has yet to accept her nomination.” The representative from Louwoda Kliron points out. 

At his words, all eyes fall once again on Indra. Her gaze quickly grazes the faces of Luna and Clarke, Rashanna and Roddeck, Turlino and Malika and Kane, all wide-eyed, eager, expectant. And then, to my surprise, her eyes fall on me.

For one instant, we have stopped playing the game again, and I catch a glimpse of the insecurities in the strongest woman I have ever known. For one moment I see her lying, broken in her tent, wishing she had died with her warriors in Pike’s massacre. For one moment I see her on her knees in the mud and ash of Ton DC weeping for her people. I see her lost and afraid. But then I see the warrior who left that tent, took up her sword, and stood by my side. I see the woman who straightened herself in her saddle and set her jaw. I see the immense courage and the unrelenting strength. And I know that Indra is strong.

And I see the woman who’s opinion Lexa always valued. The woman whose opinion I value above all others. The woman who is a natural leader, who can inspire Archers and Riders and Arkers to stand with Trikru even against impossible odds. I see the woman who doesn’t seek power or glory, but rather the prosperity of her people. And I know that Indra is wise. 

And I see the woman who took me back after I chose Skaikru over Trikru at the mountain. The woman who took Lincoln back after he chose me over his people. The woman who still stands with Skaikru even after Pike’s massacre. And I know that Indra is compassionate. 

And I see the woman who once saw the strength in me and helped me find the courage within. And so I fix my eyes on hers and I nod because I see her strength and I long to help her find her courage within. 

Indra sets her jaw and turns her eyes back to the rest of the room. “I accept Luna kom Floudonkru’s nomination.” She speaks and I feel my skin prickle into goosebumps at the resolve in her voice. “As commander, I would seek to continue working towards Commander Lexa kom Trikru’s vision of peace and unity among the clans. I would seek the wisdom of a diverse council in which each clan has a voice... the compassion found in the peaceful camaraderie between clans, who are more than just allies, but also friends... And the strength in a unified people working together for the common good of every clan.”

“Very well... Six clans in support of Indra kom Trikru.” Clarke corrects her former statement, with an excited smile. “Two in favor of Montu kom Boudalan. What say the rest of you?” She turns to Podakru first.

The man puckers his lips thoughtfully, then gives Clarke a nod. “Podakru will support Indra kom Trikru.”

“As will Ouskejonkru.”

“Delfikru supports Indra kom Trikru as well.”

“As does Yujleda.”

“Louwoda Kliron?” Clarke asks, turning to the last delegate to cast a vote. The man wriggles his jaw, his gaze fluttering over the faces of each of the other leaders, lingering on Indra’s dark eyes and on Yulmina’s orange-yellow cheekbones. 

“Louwoda Kliron will also support Indra kom Trikru.” He finally says, a hint of bitter reluctance in his voice. And I can tell he is the type of calculating man who, rather than being driven by honor or loyalty, always chooses the side who can offer him the greatest chance of survival. 

“Eleven of the thirteen clans have cast their votes in favor of Indra kom Trikru.” Clarke announces to the room before stepping before Indra’s chair. Clarke drops to her knees and lowers her head. “All hail Heda Indra kom Trikru!”

All around me people rise from their seats and drop to their knees before Indra. But Montu is still seated and Yulmina remains on her feet, glaring at Indra with the fire raging in her eyes. And before I realize it, I am moving. I am suddenly only inches from the woman’s yellow-orange face. I am close enough to see the specks of yellow in her brown eyes. Close enough to smell the stench of dried sweat and blood on her. 

“Bow to your commander.” I growl. I begin to count the ridges, but my fingers are not clutching the shell any longer. They are wrapped around the cool steel of my blade. 

“This TRUNK is no commander of mine.” The woman snarls, spitting at the ground at Indra’s feet. 

I cannot fight the anger. I cannot fight the itch. I cannot fight it. I cannot.

I pull the blade from my back as the woman wraps her own hand around the handle of her whip. And I am not afraid as I rear back.

“Octavia kom Trikru!” Indra’s voice is fierce, deep, commanding and I freeze at her icy tone. “Sheathe your weapon. There will be no blood shed in my chambers.”

Every eye in the chamber is on me, and I struggle to breath under the glares. Yulmina’s ugly yellow teeth are still bared and I am still itching.

“Sheathe your blade.” Indra repeats, and it takes every ounce of my strength to follow the order. I sheathe the sword, step back from the center of the circle. But the eyes still follow me. I dig into my pocket and find the shell in my shaky fingers. One, I count, closing my eyes. Two, Three.

“Sangedakru refuses to acknowledge the legitimacy of Indra kom Trikru as its Commander.” Yulmina hisses. “Sangedakru will answer to no commander but its own. We shall have no part in this Coalition of the weak.”

“You would forfeit Sangedakru’s right to the Nightserum...” Clarke argues even as Turlino speaks.

“Sangedakru cannot stand against the might of the Alliance, even with Boudalan at its side. If the sickness does not claim you first, the Alliance of the eleven clans will end you.”

“That’s enough!” Indra speaks, and once again I am amazed at the power in her voice. Of course she should be Commander. Of course, of course, of course.

“As Commander of the Alliance, I will neither coerce nor martially force any clan into the Coalition who does not wish to join. Nor will any such clan be met with hostility or aggression from members of the Alliance. For generations, our peoples have valued justice and revenge above all else. But before Commander Lexa died, she was working to usher in a new era... A new age of peace. And her last command was that ‘blood must not have blood.’ Perhaps instead of revenge, judgment, and justice, it is time we embrace mercy and a chance for restoration.”

The reactions to Indra’s words are varied, and I know that the concept of ‘blood must have blood’ is deeply ingrained in these people, as deeply rooted as the anger is in me. And I cannot see how Indra has any hope of changing that. But Luna, Clarke, Rashanna, Kane... Even Turlino and the man from Podakru... They are all looking at Indra with admiration in their eyes, and the glimmer of hope. And even those who scowl at her words hold their tongues in her presence. 

“This summit will meet again in one week’s time.” She continues, pacing the room with her hands clasped behind her back, and I notice she is no longer limping from the wounds of her crucifixion. She stands proud and erect. “Any clan who chooses to join will receive access to Skaikru’s serum as well as the promises of peace, fair trade and commerce between clans, and the defense and aid of its allies in times of need. Any clan who does not join will forfeit these rights along with their seat in this council. However, the clan will not be met with hostility unless it is foolish enough to attack a member of the Alliance... In which case they will be met with the full force of a vast unified people, marching as one in defense of their fellow brothers and sisters.” 

“Furthermore...” She continues. “A nation’s refusal to join the Coalition will not automatically disqualify its people from receiving Skaikru’s serum. Trikru will not turn a blind eye to any person who comes peacefully seeking Skaikru’s remedy or Trikru’s refuge, regardless of their Clan’s political stance. It is time we consider every man, woman, and child as inherently worthy of life and peace as long as they do not seek to destroy either.”

“As for Azgeda... The tyranny of Queen Nia and her line has been cut off. And, pending her acceptance of the position, I hereby appoint Atawa kom Azgeda as the new queen. May her reign be long and prosperous. And let it be known that any forces who attempt to usurp her throne will be met with the full might of the Coalition.”

“Clans wishing to join the Coalition shall conduct a census of their people to report at the next summit in one week’s time. Once sufficient quantities of the Skaikru serum have been produced, the serum will be delivered to each clan’s leader to be distributed and administered by its healers. The order in which clans will receive the serum will be determined according to most immediate need and highest levels of exposure. But in time, every citizen will receive the cure. No one shall be forgotten, neglected, or overlooked. Until then, health and prosperity be with you all. I hereby call this meeting adjourned.”

Before she has finished the words, already Yulmina is storming through the chamber doors, Montu close at her heels. And I long to follow them, because I am still itching. And the anger still burns. And I wish Indra had punished them for their disrespect. I wish she had not stopped me from making blood flow from the sand. But Indra is wise and Indra is compassionate. 

The air in the chamber is suddenly light, peaceful, friendly. But I am still struggling to breathe. The other ambassadors move to greet one another and to offer their congratulations to Indra. I see Clarke and Luna laughing in one corner like old friends. I know I could join them. They would welcome me. So would Malika and Turlino and the man from Podakru. So would Kane and Miller and Rashanna and Roddek. I could move to join any of them. Yet, I stay where I am, feeling very much alone.

“Octavia!” Bellamy calls to me from behind. And I long to turn to him. I long to feel his arms wrap tightly around me.

“Leave me alone.” Is all I say as I step away from him and move to the chamber’s exit. And for once in my life, Bellamy makes no attempt to follow me.

 

I wait by the horses, running my fingers through Helios’s mane with one hand, and tracing the edges of the shell with the other. And I feel the desperation building in me again. Because the storm has passed and I am still alive... Indra is Commander... And Clarke has saved the world again... and I should be full of joy and relief and a feeling of peace. But still I feel the emptiness and the anger and the loneliness. Because Lincoln is still gone. And I am still broken.

And I hold it all in as I smile at Rashanna and Roddek and bid them, “Smooth riding.” And I hold it all in as I clasp hands with Turlino and Malika and wish for the light to guide them. And I hold it all in as I give perfunctory hugs to Kane and Clarke and Miller and recite the words “May we meet again,” while avoiding Bellamy’s eyes. And I hold it all in until she finally appears walking side-by-side with Indra.

And now I am choking back the tears and I am trying to play the game. But the desperation is rising and rising and rising. And my voice cracks as I call out to her. 

“Luna!”

“Octavia kom Trikru...” She responds, and I can see in her eyes that she already knows I have been waiting and waiting and waiting for her. Because she knows I am broken. And she knows I can’t fix myself. And beside her, Indra turns away and pretends to busy herself with Cedar’s saddle. Because Indra knows I am broken. And Indra knows I can’t fix myself. And there is no point in playing the game anymore.

“You have to teach me, Luna.” I plead, and I cannot stop the tears from falling. “You have to teach me how...”

“Octavia...” Luna cuts me off with a sad smile. “I can’t teach you how to forgive. The power to forgive is something every person has to find on their own, within themselves. But the power is inside of you, Octavia.”

She lifts her hand and for an instant I fear she will put it on my shoulder again. And I feel myself cringe because the weight of another hand on my shoulder might just finally break me entirely. But she reaches out and puts her hand against the space above my heart. The place of sheer pain. The place of numb emptiness. 

“You have so much good inside of you, Octavia.” Luna says, softly. “You just have to stop fighting it. Learning to forgive is the hardest thing you will ever have to do. It may take you years to master it. But I’ll tell you what, kid...” She pauses to let out a small chuckle. “Just WANTING... WANTING to forgive is half the battle.”

She lets her hand fall and moves past me as I lift my own hand to my face. Because the tears are still falling. And I am still broken. And I still do not know how the hell to fix myself. And I wipe bitterly at my eyes and I turn to watch her go. But already she has disappeared as quickly and silently and mysteriously as she always appears.


	31. The Meeting of Earth and Sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is pretty much the reason I wrote this whole damn story. And I think it might just be my favorite thing I've ever written. I REALLY hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

31  
The Meeting of Earth and Sky

CLARKE

Clarke was already cringing out of habit before she shoved the door open. But for once, it wasn’t the horrible cheerful voice of ALIE who greeted her. 

“Welcome to SWOM Laboratories...” Monty’s voice was low, smooth, and slow... Almost sexy. Almost. “Where saving the world is just another day in the lab...” A second’s pause and then Monty’s normal voice sounded from the speakers. “What does S.W.O.M stand for anyways?”

“Stop... Wasting... Oxygen, Monty.” Raven’s voice replied, followed by the unmistakable chuckles of Abby as Jackson spoke next. “Abby... I think you’re still recording, you have to hit the...”

The transmission cut off suddenly and Raven appeared before her, dressed to the nines in her stained labcoat, filmy safety goggles, and yellow latex gloves. “What do you think?” She asked with a skywards glance. “Too long?”

“It’s perfect!” Clarke laughed. “So, SO much better than before. But... What DOES S.W.O.M. stand for?”

“’Stubborn Women On Missions’ of course.” Raven grinned.

“It’s perfect.” Clarke repeated. “Fucking perfect. I feel like we should have special matching shirts made or something. Or maybe just engrave the initials across the back straps of all the safety goggles.”

“I’ll get Monty on that.” Raven laughed. “He needs tasks to keep him busy when Harper’s not around. Otherwise he just drives me crazy talking about her. I told him I’m pretty sure I’ve known Harper as long as he has... I don’t need him reciting her entire life story to me everyday.”

“Aww... He’s in love.” Clarke cooed.

“I know...” Raven’s magnified eyes made a huge circle behind her goggles. “It’s disgusting.”

“Where is Monty, anyway?” Clarke asked.

“I banished the boys to the man-cave downstairs. We just finished another huge batch of the serum, we finally have enough for all of Azgeda now. So I told them they could take a break, before we start Trishana’s. They jumped up and down like it was Christmas and tried to hug me. But really I just needed to get rid of them for a while... So I could focus on other things.” She finished in a low, mischievous voice, cocking an eyebrow and flashing Clarke a magnified wink that was in no way subtle.

“I sent for you because I have good news.” Raven grinned. “I have good news... And I have FUCKING good news.”

Clarke felt her heartbeat quicken at the glint in Raven’s huge brown eyes. She held her breath... Waiting.

“I’ll start with MY news... Because I’m selfish like that.” Raven laughed. “You know how I told you I found my own special journal? Well... It wasn’t an accident that the City of Light chips, in addition to connecting you to the city, also interfered with pain perception. Chris was conducting tons of side research in the area of neural-glial purinergic receptor ensemble in states of chronic, long-term pain...”

“Raven, you’re losing me.” Clarke cut in. 

“Right... Let’s just say Chris was working on locating specific areas of the brain involved in pain perception and developing ways to shut down targeted neural pathways...” Raven paused at Clarke’s blank expression. 

“I know how to trick my brain into thinking my knee is fine.” She finally blurted out in words Clarke could actually understand.

“Really?” Clarke asked, excitement and worry battling within her. “And you’re sure it won’t mess with your memories or turn you into some peace-loving hippie zombie, right?”

“No...” Raven gave her a giddy grin. “I’ll still be me. And don’t worry, if you punch me in the face, I’ll still feel pain. Just not all the fucking time.”

“When have I ever punched you in the face, Raven?” Clarke laughed. “If I remember right, YOU’RE the one who once punched ME in the face. And THAT pain was real.”

“Yeah... Well...” Raven laughed right back. “Sometimes we DESERVE to feel the pain. Which is why I’m making sure it will only interfere with the neural pathways directly linked through my spinal cord to the tissues in my knee. I’m THIS close, Clarke.” Raven breathed, holding her thumb and forefinger so closely together that the floppy tips of the over-sized latex gloves drooped against each other. “THIS close.”

“That IS fucking good news, Raven.” Clarke smiled, genuinely happy for her friend. Because of all the people in the world who deserved something good in their lives, Raven was at the top of Clarke’s list. Raven had endured way more physical and emotional pain than any single person ever should. She had gone through so much shit. And yet... She remained one of the kindest, most compassionate, and selfless people Clarke knew. And she managed to maintain her sassy, witty sense of humor to boot. And it was about time Raven found some happiness. Clarke was about to pull Raven into a hug, when the girl held up a droopy yellow glove to stop her.

“Naw...” Raven said. “That was just the good news...” She paused to pull off her gloves and push her goggles onto the crown of her head so she could fix Clarke with a properly intense gaze. And Clarke felt her heartbeat quickening again. Her palms were starting to sweat as if encased in their own pair of hot latex gloves. 

“The FUCKING good news is that you passed... The bloodwork checked out.” Raven cocked her enormous grin to one side and held out a sweaty palm. “Congratulations, Griffin... The third dose took... You’re officially a Nightblood.” 

 

***

 

 

“Ready?” Raven asked one last time, squeezing Clarke’s hand tightly.

“Ready.” Clarke answered, and the word was both a complete understatement and a bold-faced lie. Her heart was racing so wildly the thumping in her chest was almost painful. The blood was pulsing through her neck and in her wrists and in her ears so thick and fast she feared her arteries might just rupture from the pressure. The palm wrapped in Raven’s was so sweaty it was embarrassing. The tightness in her chest made every breath too shallow and she could not pull the oxygen in fast enough to keep up with the ever-growing demands of her racing blood. She felt dizzy already.

She had been waiting for this moment for weeks and days and hours and minutes and seconds. Waiting, waiting, waiting through every moment since she had first let the icy waters numb the rational part of her brain and allowed herself to be batshit crazy. And now that the time had finally come, she suddenly felt numb again. She felt like she might pass out. She wondered if maybe she was having a heart attack or an aneurysm, or a stroke... Or maybe just a good old-fashioned panic attack. Because this idea was batshit crazy. And maybe she was too, because nothing, not even clinical heart failure, was going to stop her at this point.

Waiting, waiting, waiting. 

And she was ready. She was absolutely, utterly ready. 

And she was not ready at all. Not even a little bit. 

 

“Ascende Superius.” Raven spoke and, for the second time in her life, Clarke felt the strange sensation in the back of her neck like someone had slit her skin open with the thinnest of blades and now a spider was burrowing its way into the gash.

The pain wracked through her body like lava in her veins and she went rigid with it. Her toes curled in her boots and her fingers clenched so tightly around Raven’s she feared she might break Raven’s hand in her own. But she was powerless to release it. And someone was screaming and she wished they would stop because the terror and pain in the girl’s cries made Clarke’s ears throb and the hairs on her arms stand. 

And as soon as she wished it, the screaming abruptly stopped as Clarke’s rigid body went limp. Her toes uncurled and her fingers unclenched and her hand fell from Raven’s fingertips into empty, lonely space. And her last thought was of the green of Lexa’s eyes as everything around her faded to black.

 

*** 

 

Clarke opened her eyes to a gentle yellow light filtering through the trees, tinging their trunks in gold. The sun was setting softly behind her, sending long shadows through the forest. Clarke was dressed in the simple gray knit shirt and cargo pants that she had worn her last day in space, her very first day on Earth. But instead of the puffy, synthetic jacket, draped over her shoulders was the long, fur-lined cloak Titus had given her. The strange combination made her look something in-between Arker and Grounder. But it didn’t feel weird. It felt comfortable. It felt right. 

Clarke took a deep breath of forest air so thick and fresh and pure it sank into the bottom of her lungs like water and she could almost taste the flavors of the forest on her tongue. Night was falling so slowly, so gently around her it was like someone was unfolding a blue-black blanket, draping it over the tips of the trees and tucking its edges in around the forest the way her father used to tuck her in as a child. And the last golden rays of the sun caressing her cheek was like the feel of his chapped lips on her forehead, as tender and swift as his goodnight kiss. And then the sun was eclipsed by the curve of the earth and the soft yellow light flickered out like the harsh fluorescent light in her room went out with the flick of her father’s finger. And the dim light of twilight engulfing Clarke was like the strip of light spilling into her room through the door her father always left cracked open for her. 

Clarke watched the shadows collecting and gasped as suddenly all around her tiny flowers began to open as if greeting the darkness. As they unfolded, a soft white-purple light filled the thin space between earth and sky. The flowers were glowing, the light spilling from their petals and collecting on the forest floor like puddles of lavender moonlight.

Clarke felt her jaw drop at the sight and fell to her knees to inspect the nearest flower. It was some kind of wood violet, tiny and delicate, and its petals shimmered as much purple as silver. Unable to resist the urge, she plucked the tiny flower and watched in complete awe as its petals burned pure gold in her palm for the briefest of moments before its soft light was forever swallowed by the darkness.

She let the extinguished flower drift from her palm and rose to her feet, wishing the golden glow could have lingered a little longer, only to lift her eyes and find tiny golden lights glimmering in the night all around as if the stars had suddenly dropped right out of the sky. The lights flashed and flickered as they dove and swirled and danced around her. Again unable to resist the urge, she reached out to pluck one of the lights right out of the air, wanting to hold a star in her hand. She wanted to put it in her pocket and save it for a rainy day, just like in the song her dad used to sing to her on the nights when the kiss to the forehead was not enough to keep the nightmares at bay. 

She reached out to catch a falling star, but the firefly was too fast for her. It dodged her grasp, weaving through the gaps in her fingers as easily as the gaps in the trees. And Clarke chased the dancing light through the glowing forest until the tips of her boots collided with stone and the firefly flew far beyond her reach, skimming over the tumbling waters of a gentle river. 

And Clarke stood in the purple-white glow, watching the golden lights hover and dance over the black waters, mimicking the actual stars flickering above her in the blue-black strip of sky. And she thought to herself that this was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. And she wished she had someone to share this moment with. More than anything, she wished she had Lexa by her side.

 

“Clarke?” The voice was soft, barely more than a whisper, trickling into Clarke’s ears like the low murmuring of the stream beside her. And for one second Clarke thought the longing inside of her was playing tricks on her, because it was the voice Clarke only heard when she closed her eyes and let the memories in. 

“Clarke?” The name fell on her ears like a secret whispered in the night, meant for only her to hear, and this time Clarke turned, feeling foolish at the rush of hope in her chest. Because the voice was Lexa’s. And Lexa was gone. 

And Clarke blinked and blinked and blinked. Because Lexa was standing in the forest, surrounded by a hundred purple flowers and a hundred golden lights. And the girl standing before Clarke was not the warrior with a mask of black around her eyes or braids in her hair. She was not the commander with the silver charm between her brows or the orange-red sash cascading from her shoulder. She was not the girl who carried the weight of thirteen nations on her shoulders, who was burdened with duties to her people and plagued by worries for their care. 

The girl standing before her was Lexa... just Lexa. A girl who, like Clarke, was just a girl. And she was wearing the same thin, long-sleeved top that showed the skin of her shoulders and followed the line of her collarbones, the same top Clarke had once tossed on the floor with trembling fingers. And her hair was loose and wild and free and draped over one shoulder. And she was wearing that same small smile she used to flash at Clarke whenever Titus wasn’t looking. 

And Clarke gazed at her and forgot all about the glowing violets and the golden lights. And she blinked and she blinked and she blinked because THIS, she thought to herself, THIS was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

“Lexa?” A whisper. A prayer. 

Clarke was so stunned, she felt paralyzed. She could not move. Not her legs... not her arms... not a single finger, despite the fact that all ten were quaking at her sides. But Lexa crossed the distance between them for her and reached out and took those trembling fingers in her own. And Clarke just blinked and blinked and blinked.

And finally she found the ability to move again. And she pulled her hands from Lexa’s and wrapped the trembling fingers around her cheeks and the edges of her jaw and the bases of her tiny earlobes and into her hair because she needed to know that this was real. And when Lexa remained solid beneath her fingertips, she finally let herself believe.

And she threw her arms around Lexa and held her so tightly it was as if she feared the girl might evaporate into thin air at any second. And she clutched her against her chest as if afraid she might be ripped from her arms if she didn’t hold on tightly enough. And Lexa let out a small laugh that was nothing but joy, pure joy, as she wrapped her arms around Clarke just as tightly as Clarke was wrapped around her. 

“I knew you’d find a way back to me.” She whispered in Clarke’s ear as she let Clarke hold her and hold her and hold her. And the tears welled in Clarke’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks as Lexa held her and held her and held her. And when she finally pulled out of the hug, Lexa’s thumbs flicked the tears from Clarke’s cheeks despite the fact that tears dripped silently down her own cheeks too. And she was grinning now, looking at Clarke as if she were the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

And Clarke moved into the space between them even as Lexa moved towards her. And their lips collided in the middle like magnets meeting. And Clarke wanted to kiss Lexa smooth and deep, but she couldn’t control her lips because they were too busy smiling to listen to anything Clarke had to say. And Lexa was grinning too. And the kisses were messy and wet from the tears and interrupted by laughs as their teeth bonked together and punctuated by giggles as their noses rubbed. And Clarke felt like she was suffocating. And Clarke felt like she was breathing, truly breathing, for the first time. 

And when they both felt too dizzy with breathless giddiness, they pulled out of the kissing and leaned their foreheads against each other and breathed each other in.

“I’d thought I’d lost you forever.” Clarke breathed. “Lost you forever, all over again.”

Lexa put one tender hand on Clarke’s cheek, as the tears began to flow once more. “You’ll never lose me again, Clarke. Never ever, ever, again.”

 

*** 

 

“Where are we?” Clarke asked Lexa as they sat side-by-side watching the fireflies dancing over the tumbling waters of the river. “I mean... Is this place real? Or is it... In my head?”

“I suppose you could say it’s both.” Lexa laughed. 

“It’s beautiful.” Clarke sighed, weaving her fingers more tightly into Lexa’s.

“Of course it is.” Lexa chuckled, raising Clarke’s hand to her face and planting a kiss on the back of it. “You created it, and YOU’RE beautiful.”

“What did it look like when YOU had the flame?” Clarke asked, overwhelmed with curiosity.

“More often than not... a meadow.” Lexa answered. “A gorgeously green meadow filled with a thousand different wildflowers... Cheerful yellow daisies and puffy white dandelions, dainty bluebells and tiny red fairy bells, painfully orange poppies and tall pinkish-purple fireweed. A meadow with dark firs around its edges and the biggest open sky above, as brilliantly blue as your eyes.”

“It sounds beautiful.” Clarke smiled. “But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You created it, and YOU’RE beautiful.” She chuckled, raising Lexa’s hand to her mouth to plant a kiss on the back of it.

Clarke was still getting used to the sound of Lexa’s laugh. And she had decided that it was even more beautiful than the sound of her voice. And she wanted nothing more than to listen to it ringing through the air like bells forever. She wanted to memorize its rhythm, its beats and notes and melody, like a song. She wanted to be able to replay it in her head over and over and over again. And she knew she would gladly make a fool of herself every day for the rest of her life just so she could hear the music of Lexa’s laughter playing in the space between them. 

 

“So...” Clarke spoke. “Where are the other commanders? They’re here somewhere, right?”

“Only if you summon them.” Lexa answered.

“Summon them?”

“Just like you summoned me.”

“How exactly DID I summon you?” Clarke asked with a confused laugh.

“You have to want their company. That’s all. You just have to want them here, and they’ll appear.”  
“Wow. It’s like magic.” Clarke laughed. “But I didn’t summon you by just WANTING your company, Lexa. I’m pretty sure I downright CRAVED you into existence.”

The music played again and Clarke savored the sound.

 

“So...” Clarke started, shooting Lexa a mischievous grin and a sideways glance. “If I DON’T want their company, no one can come, right? I mean... We’re completely alone, right?”

“Right...” Lexa shot Clarke her own mischievous grin and it was enough to make Clarke’s heart flutter faster and her stomach jolt behind her navel and her fingers tingle at the tips. “Why?”

“I have an idea.” Clarke said, trying her best not to laugh at the excited anticipation written all over Lexa’s face. 

“Yes?” Lexa’s grin and the light in her eyes almost made Clarke change her mind. ALMOST. 

“Teach me to swim.” Clarke blurted out.

“What?” Lexa asked, completely surprised by the request.

“Teach me to swim.” Clarke repeated, feeling a little too satisfied at the sudden look of disappointment in Lexa’s eyes. Not because she wanted to disappoint Lexa, but because she knew what Lexa really wanted, and that knowledge made her burn inside.

“Now?” Lexa asked as Clarke just nodded with wild excitement in her wide eyes. 

“Now?” She repeated, as if the idea was ludicrous, as if some random onlookers might catch them swimming in the semi-darkness and mumble and shake their heads in disapproval. 

“Yes, now!” Clarke laughed. “Please?” She begged, leaping to her feet and tugging at Lexa’s wrist. 

Lexa chewed her bottom lip, hesitating, remaining stubbornly seated, despite Clarke’s tugs. Clarke released Lexa’s wrists and bent before her, resting her elbows on the sharp points of Lexa’s kneecaps so that she could lean in close to her face. She fixed her with a serious look.

“I have to learn now, Lexa.” She said in a low, dramatic voice. “Right now. Because I’m drowning... Drowning in your eyes.”

The line was stupid... So gloriously stupid. And Clarke burst into untamed, uncontrollable laughter at the confusion it brought to Lexa’s face.

“Come on.” She pleaded between giggles, leaning even further forward to hook her forearms under Lexa’s armpits so she could pry her from the ground. Lexa finally rose to her feet obediently and let Clarke pull her by the wrist, running and laughing as she dragged Lexa across the stony shore. Clarke paused at the water’s edge and ripped her shirt from her shoulders, tossing it carelessly onto the ground as she tugged at her pants. Once free of her clothes, she raced into the gentle waves, splashing the water with the joyful, carefree enthusiasm of a toddler stomping through puddles in the rain. 

She waded out into the cold until the water lapped at her nipples and shoulder blades and the tips of her hair, and then turned to watch Lexa carefully, meticulously undressing on the shore. She studied the curves and lines of her, wanting to memorize every inch... The sharp ridges of her collarbones, the plump swells of her breasts, the smooth, flat plain of her tummy, the soft curves of her hips. Every inch of her was utterly beautiful, down to her knobbly knees and long, slender toes. 

It seemed an eternity to Clarke, as Lexa folded her clothes and neatly stacked them on a fallen log. But she would have happily gazed at her until the world, itself, stopped breathing. 

At last, Lexa stepped from stone into water and waded out to the place where Clarke waited for her, grinning, trembling with the cold and with the anticipation. But Lexa was frowning as she approached her and Clarke felt her grin droop.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m afraid...” Lexa said in a sad, low voice. “That I can’t teach you to swim right now, Clarke.”

“What?” Clarke frowned, confused. “Why not?”

“Because...” Lexa paused, pursing her lips and dropping her voice to a whisper. “You have to smile... It only works if you smile.”

“What?” Clarke was now completely, utterly confused.

“Just smile for me.” Lexa commanded, her voice now loud, demanding, and just a little whiney.

Clarke’s eyebrows were still knitted in confusion, but she slowly wrenched the corners of her lips upwards. 

Lexa gave her a satisfied smirk of approval. Then she grew serious again. “I’m afraid I can’t teach you to swim, Clarke, because I think I’ve forgotten how. Because I’m drowning... Drowning in your smile.” She finished with her own sudden, wild burst of laughter. 

The line was stupid... So gloriously stupid. But it had worked. Boy, had it worked. 

Clarke watched Lexa double over in laughter at her own joke, grinning stupidly like a child. This laughter was louder and freer than any of the others and Clarke added the melody to her playlist as she gazed in absolute wonder at the girl before her. She had never seen Lexa look so young and careless and blissfully free. And the affection she felt inside of her as she stared, mesmerized by the beauty of this moment, was like a wildness within her. It was like flames burning and dancing and licking at the edges of her heart. It was like waves of water churning and rushing and flooding her insides. It was like lightning running through her veins and into every inch of her tingling skin. It was like thunder rumbling in her chest, building and building and building, demanding to be released. It was an affection so powerful that it made her ache inside... A love so raw and real and bloody that it hurt.

And it was the best kind of pain. And Clarke needed Lexa like a roiling hunger, like a burning thirst, like an awful, terrible itch demanding to be scratched. Every inch of her body... Her skin, her flesh, her bones, her blood, her organs, her soul... every ounce of her entire being was screaming for relief. She craved her. She needed her. She needed her. She needed her.

 

Clarke closed the inches between them, because she needed to be closer. And she reached out and wrapped her hands around Lexa’s laughing face because she needed to feel her skin beneath her tingling, itching fingertips. And she wove her trembling fingers into Lexa’s wild curly hair because she needed something to hold onto. 

Lexa’s laughter caught on her tongue as her glinting eyes went wide and her plump lips parted in surprise. And Clarke pressed her lips against Lexa’s because Lexa’s lips were the only thing that could keep her from drowning or from bursting into a million pieces. And Lexa’s lips were the only thing that could fill the desperate hunger inside of her. And she craved her. And she needed her. She needed her. She needed her. 

“I thought you wanted to learn how to swim.” Lexa whispered as Clarke finally pulled her lips away. Lexa’s voice was breathless, airy. She looked woozy, dazed, as if the water swirling around them was the only thing keeping her on her feet. 

“I don’t have to learn right now.” Clarke breathed. “It can wait.”

“Good.” Was all Lexa managed to get out before she smashed her lips against Clarke’s with such a wild hunger that Clarke stumbled back from the force of it. And Lexa only pressed further into her, until there was no gap between them, no space left for air or water. And Lexa kissed Clarke as if Clarke’s lips were the only thing that could keep her from drowning or bursting into a million pieces. And she kissed her as if there was a desperate hunger deep inside of her that only Clarke could fill. And she kissed her as if she needed... needed... needed her. 

 

*** 

 

Clarke’s body was still tingling in all the right places. The heat... the wonderful, wonderful warmth... Still coursed through every inch of her, through her tired muscles and through her prickling skin and into her toes and fingertips. It radiated from that spot deep beneath her belly button and lower still, that spot so deep in her core that only Lexa’s touch could ever reach. Every muscle in her body felt blissfully weak from the release and she let herself relax and melt into the contours of Lexa. And she sighed into the nape of Lexa’s neck, trying to savor every sensation, trying to make it last.

The smooth stone beneath her was solid and cold against her bare skin, and she nuzzled even further into the softness and the warmth of the body beside her, wondering at how perfectly she seemed to fit into it. She was draped over, and woven between, and curled into, every curve and every gap and every soft edge of Lexa. And her cheek pressed into the delicate curve of Lexa’s neck, her arm tucked between her breasts, her fingers resting along the ridge of her collarbone, her thigh and knee and shin all wedged gently between Lexa’s, her ankle wrapped tightly around Lexa’s as if attempting to forever link them... Everything felt right... So right. It was as if her body had been formed with Lexa’s in mind. As if her body had been purposefully created to wrap around and under and into Lexa’s. And she wondered how it was, after all these years of living in the awkward house of her torso and arms and legs, that she was only now realizing that her body was merely half of a whole and it was never designed to stand alone.

 

Lexa’s long, graceful fingers were trembling slightly as she trailed them up and down the bumpy length of Clarke’s spine. 

“Lexa, you’re shaking.” Clarke whispered into Lexa’s ear, snagging the soft furs of the lining of her cloak to pull it tighter around the pair of them. “Are you cold?”

“No.” Lexa answered. “I mean, yes... A little.... But that’s not why I’m shaking.”

Clarke let out a soft laugh, and Lexa shivered, and Clarke knew that it wasn’t from the cold, but rather the caress of Clarke’s warm breath along her earlobe. And Clarke snagged that earlobe gently between her teeth, nibbling through her smile, relishing her ability to make all of Lexa quake with something so simple as the tip of her tongue running along the curve of that tender piece of skin. 

Lexa breathed something between a sigh and a whimper and Clarke knew that she was driving her crazy, pushing her until she was caught in that unbearable place in the in-between, the place of pure pleasure and absolute torture. And Clarke relished the power she had over Lexa. Lexa... the ferocious warrior, the Commander of the Clans, who was fearless even in the face of Death, but now trembled at the mere wetness of Clarke’s tongue and the sharp nip of her teeth and the warmth of her breath. The feeling of power was intoxicating, addicting. But the toes wrapped around Clarke’s ankle were curling and the shaky fingernails tracing her skin were now biting into her and Clarke knew Lexa’s body was screaming for mercy. 

So Clarke giggled softly into her ear one last time, watching the shiver course through Lexa, before receding back into the soft nape of Lexa’s neck. She could feel Lexa’s blood pulsing strong and rapid just beneath the skin against her cheek. And she pressed her ear to the spot and listened to Lexa’s heart counting out the seconds. And she fought the urge to fall into a blissful sleep because she could not bear to miss a single beat.

And Clarke watched the fireflies dancing in the night around them, and through the droopy slits of her eyelids, they almost looked like shooting stars to her. And she thought to herself that if you could make a wish on a shooting star, maybe you could make a wish on a firefly too. So she closed her eyes... and she searched her soul. But after a moment, she just opened her eyes again. Because with Lexa’s arms wrapped around her, with Lexa’s skin warm and solid and real against hers, with Lexa’s heartbeat steady in her ear, there was nothing left for Clarke to wish for.

 

“You know...” Lexa suddenly spoke, her voice as soft and fluid as the gentle gurgle of the tumbling stream beside them. She was staring into the darkness above, watching the dancing lights of the fireflies and the flicker of the actual stars beyond them. “When I was little, and the nightmares kept me from sleeping, I used to wake up Luna and drag her from the warmth of the covers out into the night. And she’d mope and groan as she stumbled along behind me, half asleep, tripping on logs and jagged rocks. And I’d pull her through the trees until I found a spot clear enough to see the sky above. And we’d lay on the cold forest floor and stare up at the stars. And always... Within minutes... I would hear her snoring grumpily beside me. But I would just stare and stare and stare until the sleep finally came for me too.”

Lexa paused and Clarke didn’t dare speak a word, because Lexa’s voice in her ear was as soothing as the fingertips grazing her skin and she didn’t want her to stop. And Clarke held her breath, waiting for the melody of Lexa’s voice to drown out the silence, to fill the empty space between them with beauty once more. 

“I used to feel trapped sometimes.” Lexa continued and Clarke breathed again. “Like the walls were too tight around me, the ceiling too low. And when I felt like the whole world was closing in around me, the only thing that could make me feel safe again was the sky... The open, endless sky above me. During the day I wondered what it would be like to have wings... To be able to climb into the sky and have nothing but air above me and underneath me and all around me. And I would stare into the blue and white and gray and pretend to be a bird. I would pretend I wasn’t trapped. I would pretend I was free.” 

“And at night... Even when the darkness closed in around me, I never felt trapped if I could see the moon and the stars. Because no matter how dark the sky grew, even when it was blacker than the paint on my face, darker than the emptiness in my chest... The moon and the stars never stopped shining. And I’d stare up at them and pretend I was one of them. I’d pretend I was full of light, not darkness. I’d pretend that there was hope inside.”

“And I could never explain why, but I was always drawn to the sky. Like I was made to be a part of it. And... Clarke?”

Lexa paused and Clarke could feel Lexa’s pulse drumming wildly in the hollow of her neck,even faster and stronger than before. “Yes?” Clarke whispered into the night.

She felt the ripple of Lexa’s hard swallow. Lexa’s chest was rising and falling rapidly beneath Clarke’s arm. Lexa was terribly nervous. She opened her mouth to speak but all that escaped was a stutter. 

“I... Clarke, you’re... I...” Lexa stammered and Clarke smiled secretly into the shadow of Lexa’s quivering chin, because her nervousness was absolutely adorable. And Clarke desperately wanted to hear what was making Lexa’s heart beat against her ribs like a frantic, caged animal. But it seemed Lexa wasn’t ready. She could not find the strength to speak it, to release the words that were eating at her insides like hot panic. 

So Clarke opened her own mouth instead, giving Lexa a chance to breathe. A chance to find her courage. 

“You know, when I was little,” Clarke spoke. “And the nightmares kept ME from sleeping, I used to drag my dad out of bed. I used to pull him out of our compartment and down the cold, dark hallways until we found a window with a view of Earth in its pane. And my father would fall asleep with his back propped against the metal wall and his mouth hanging open and his fingers wrapped around mine. And I would just stare through the thick glass down at Earth, watching the glowing, swirling blues and greens and whites. And I would just stare and stare and stare until the sleep came for me too.”

Clarke paused and felt Lexa swallow again. Lexa’s chest wasn’t rising and falling anymore. She was holding her breath. And Clarke knew she was too afraid to speak, lest Clarke stop talking. She knew Lexa was waiting for her voice to fill the silence.

“I used to feel trapped too.” Clarke continued. “Trapped by metal walls and rooms and corridors. The Ark was surrounded by nothing but open space. But I could never get to it. It was always just beyond my reach, on the other side of the metal, on the other side of the glass. And when I felt like the metal was closing in around me, the only thing that made me feel safe was to look down on Earth. And I would pretend that I was down on the ground, surrounded by water and trees and dirt. And I would pretend I wasn’t trapped. I would pretend I was free.”

And I would imagine what it was like to stand on ground... Not clunky, rusting sheets of steel... But on ground, real ground... dirt and rocks and earth and stone. I imagined standing on soil that had been there for hundreds and hundreds of years before my feet fell upon it and that would still be there for hundreds of years after my footprints had long washed away. And I would pretend that I wasn’t just drifting through empty space and nothingness. I would pretend that I was standing on ground that was steady and solid and constant beneath me, a place where I could plant my feet and take root until it felt like ‘home.’”

“And I didn’t know why, but I was always drawn to Earth... Like I was meant to be a part of it.”

Clarke paused because her own pulse was racing beneath her skin now. And she swallowed because her own throat felt dry and her tongue felt too big for her mouth. And she knew what she wanted to say, but she was having trouble breathing. And she wanted Lexa to speak again so she could have a chance to breathe. So she could have a chance to find her courage.

“Clarke...” Lexa whispered, her voice shaky, but determined. And Clarke held her breath, because she could not bear to miss a word. “You’re my sky, Clarke... You are my freedom and my hope... You are my sky.” 

This line wasn’t stupid... Not even a little bit. And at Lexa’s words, Clarke found her courage. “Lexa... You’re my Earth. You are my freedom and my solid, steady ground, and my home.”

And Clarke wasn’t sure if the air that filled the hollow between them was her own sigh or Lexa’s. Because they fit so tightly, so perfectly that it was hard to tell where one girl ended and the other began. Because their bodies were always meant to join at the edges like the meeting between the sky and the Earth. And in the blur of darkness, when Sky wrapped itself around Earth, no one could ever say just where she ended and Earth began.

 

*** 

 

Clarke couldn’t say if it was minutes or hours or days that they laid together on that bed of stone beneath a cloak lined on one side with fur and the other with darkness pierced only by fireflies and stars. It seemed like years. It seemed like seconds. Clarke had forgotten the world and time with it. For once, she wasn’t Clarke the Fixer, or Clarke the Broken Mess, or Clarke the Stubborn Woman on a Mission. For once, she was just Clarke. Clarke, the girl who was just a girl. And she had just let herself simply BE, until she became nothing but a part of the beautiful mess of tangled limbs and skin, of quiet breaths and steady heartbeats and tender touches, of sighs and giggles and stupid, silly grins. 

It seemed like years and it seemed like seconds.

And Clarke never wanted to detangle herself from this beautiful mess. But the black sky above her was suddenly alive with color. Swirls of scarlet and sapphire green and royal blue all danced with each other, shimmering against the blackness. The colors mingled and separated, disappeared and reappeared, flashing and screaming for Clarke’s attention.

Lexa pulled herself apart from Clarke and it was all Clarke could do to keep herself from following her, clinging to her as she propped herself onto her elbows beside Clarke. Lexa looked thoughtfully up at the dancing colors then cocked a curious smile at Clarke as if it was not the beautiful, mysterious sky, but rather Clarke that impressed and intrigued her.

“For me,” She spoke. “It was always a flock of sparrows in the sky, diving and rising, rippling and swirling, separating and coming back together... Chattering and calling out to one another as they chased each other through the air. I never thought I would see something more beautiful or mesmerizing than those birds... But that was before I met you.”

“It IS beautiful.” Clarke agreed, watching the colors swirl, even as the red gave way to rose and the blue turned to silver and the green became gold.

Lexa laughed and flashed Clarke a mischievous, cocky smirk. “I wasn’t talking about the sky, Clarke.”

“You’re such a cheeseball, Lexa.” Clarke joined her laughter, giving her a playful push on the shoulder.

“No... I’m just a romantic.” Lexa said, matter-of-factly. “And if I’m cheesy, it’s entirely your fault for bringing it out in me.”

“Alright, I’ll take the blame.” Clarke laughed. “I’ve always loved cheese.”

She turned her eyes back to the sky. “What does it mean, Lexa?”

“I think someone is calling you... Calling you back.”

“Do I have to go back?”

Lexa just smiled and leaned into Clarke to plant a small kiss on her forehead. And Clarke closed her eyes at the simple tenderness of it and when she opened them again, she jumped at the sight of Raven kneeling before her. 

“Clarke! Clarke! Are you OK?”

“I’m fine, Raven.” Clarke answered, clutching her chest and trying to steady her breathing. “You just scared the crap out of me.”

“I scared the crap out of YOU? You’re the one who’s been unconscious this whole time.”

“Oh no.” Clarke said, not knowing whether to laugh or blush. “What happened this time? Did I try to kiss you again?”

“No. Thankfully, this time you skipped all the theatrics and just fast-forwarded from the convulsing straight to the going limp and promptly crumpling to the ground part.”

Clarke let out a sigh of relief, because she and Lexa had done a whole lot more than just kissing.

“How long have I been out?” She asked.

“Bout five minutes. How do you feel?”

“Five minutes?” Clarke gasped, unable to believe the words. “Five minutes?”

“Yeah... Five minutes...” Raven repeated, impatiently. “How do you feel? Do you feel different?”

Clarke just blinked stupidly at her. Because she could not stop repeating the words to herself. Five minutes?

Raven stared at her with wide, expectant brown eyes. “Do you feel different?” She asked again. “Do you have any... sudden new knowledge... Or ideas, or anything? Do you have any clue how to get back to Lexa?”

Clarke just grinned, shaking her head at the wonder of it all. She pulled Raven into a hug because the happiness in her was too much for her to bear alone. Because, like pain, happiness was designed to be shared. “I already did, Raven. I already did.”


	32. Beside the Fire

32  
Beside the Fire

OCTAVIA

When we left Ton DC this morning clumps of daffodils splotched the forest floor like little patches of sunshine. The tree under which I parked Helios outside the gates of Arkadia was in full bloom, littering the ground with fallen petals an obnoxious shade of pink. But here, on the edges of Azgeda, it seems winter still reigns.

“Ai laik Octavia kom Trikru and I seek the fire’s warmth in winter’s chill.” I call out to the thick men with thick coats and thick blades and thick streaks of white across their faces. “I come under orders of Commander Indra kom Trikru to deliver the Skaikru serum as agreed upon in the conditions of Azgeda’s reinstatement in the Alliance of the Clans.” 

My tone is formal, as chilly as the crisp wind swirling bits of snow around us. I do not want to be here. If I had been Indra, I would have refused Azgeda’s request for re-admittance, and with it, their right to the Nightserum. The way I see it, the world would be better off if we just left Azgeda out in the cold and let nature take care of them for us. 

But Indra is wise and strong and, despite her rough exterior, more compassionate than she would ever dare to admit. If it were up to me, I would have at least made Azgeda wait until every other clan received their doses of the serum. But because Azgeda has the greatest levels of exposure and are the first already showing signs of radiation poisoning, Raven, Clarke, Abby, and Indra all agreed that, whether we like it or not, Azgeda NEEDS the serum first. And, as hard headed as I am, damn if I can stand against that kind of united front of stubborn women.

So here I am now, being led into the heart of Azgeda by silent, surly men I neither like nor trust. And I’m fighting back the anger because, if not exactly a friendly mission, this is supposed to at least be a peaceful one. And even though my eyes can still only see them as enemies, the men before me are now officially allies, at least on paper. And I am duty-bound to treat them as such.

And I still can’t understand why Indra chose to delegate ME as Trikru’s top ambassador, especially after she witnessed the last diplomatic encounter I had with an Azgeda representative. But Indra was persistent in her insistence and, of all the people on this godforsaken earth, there is no one whom I respect more than Indra. Indra... The woman who acknowledged and nurtured the warrior inside of me. Indra... The woman who helped Lexa build the Coalition and now has put the pieces of it back together even stronger than before. And technically, as her second, and now as her SUBJECT, I was duty-bound to accept the appointment. But, bound or not, reluctant and pissy as I am, I never would have refused her. Because, now that Lincoln is gone, there is not a single person on the planet I want to please more than Indra.

That is, except for maybe Eevie. I look over at the little girl riding tall on Lil’ Chief beside me and the light in her eyes helps me breathe as much as the coarse locks of Helios’s mane twisting between my fingers. She still hasn’t said a single word to me, but she no longer looks like she’s about to run off into the forest every time I try to speak to her. And when I asked her if she knew what a warrior’s second was, she had nodded. And when I asked her if she would like to be MY second, she had nodded again. And at the glint of excitement in her hazel eyes I had felt a smile cross my face. Because the anger and the emptiness and the loneliness are still inside of me and I carry them with me everywhere I go. But their weight seems a whole lot lighter when Eevie is close. When I can breathe.

We pass through hills of rock and snow and as we crest one slope I catch my first glimpse of a flourishing village in the valley below and I am surprised by its beauty. As we descend the hill we follow a winding trail meandering through pine forest much like Trikru’s, only here every tree is blanketed in a thick covering of snow. Beneath the trees log cabins sit quietly in the mounds of white, smoke drifting lazily from brick chimneys into the white sky above. 

The men lead us to what looks like a massive old lodge still standing from the days before ALIE that I assume must now be used as Azgeda’s capitol building. The lodge’s wings frame the edges of a small frozen lake lined on its other banks by shops and businesses, more cabins, and a schoolhouse. This is the heart of their village and it is as alive as Trikru’s once was, and will be again.

People come and go from the buildings, tromping through packed snow and ice in boots and puffy jackets or sleek, fur-lined coats. Others skate across the glittering surface of the frozen lake, laughing and chasing each other across the ice. I watch as a boy slips, falls, and immediately starts bawling while his sister stands over him, laughing and laughing. Her mother silences the laughter with a swat across the girl’s behind even as the father silences the cries by lifting the little boy off of his own behind and into his warm arms.

Beside the family a group of teenagers hoot and holler, hitting a big round stone back and forth across the ice with long sticks carved into the shape of an L. One of the boys hits the stone into a metal trashcan laying on its side and raises his arms overhead, cheering and smirking shamelessly. He shimmies his shoulders and executes a few ridiculous hip thrusts accompanied by fist pumps. But his victory dance is cut short when a girl only a fraction of his size skates up behind him and gives him a playful, but hard, shove. The shove is perfectly timed with his hip thrusts and his feet go flying into the air, his fist pumps turn into flailing, and he falls spectacularly on his ass. 

Laughter drifts through the chilly air and I am almost tempted to join in as I look around in wonder at the warmth and beauty of this frozen village. And I’m not sure what I expected to find within the borders of Azgeda, but it definitely was not this. Because there are people all around us, and though I know that nearly all of Azgeda’s citizens are trained in warrior combat from their youth, with the exception of the men escorting us, not a single person here has white smeared across their face or steel clutched in their hand. 

In place of warpaint, they wear smiles and rosy cheeks reddened by the cold. Instead of armor, they wear fluffy jackets and knitted mittens and caps and scarves that shine in a rainbow of colors standing out boldly against the white of the snow. And instead of blades in their hands, they grip shopping bags or sacks of groceries or the smaller hands of toddlers stumbling their way across the slick icy ground.

 

“Queen Atawa will see you now, Ambassador.” One of our escorts tells me as he dismounts from his shaggy brown horse. I help Eevie off of her colt and her tiny hand lingers in mine as the men of Azgeda begin assisting my own small crew in unloading the jugs of the Nightserum from our horses’ backs. I relinquish my reins to one of the Ice Nation warriors and allow him to guide Helios and Lil’ Chief to a small stable beside the lodge. And I hope that at least one of “the Shits” manages to get a good bite in before we leave.

I catch Eevie eyeing a small group of girls playing in the snowy yard fronting the gigantic lodge as we approach its entrance. A snowball splatters into sloppy wet chunks against the back of one girl’s yellow, polka-dotted beanie. The girl turns, massaging the back of her head with one hand, and rearing back a fistful of snow in the other, preparing to fire back at her laughing attacker. But the girl easily dodges the retaliating snowball and simply falls on her back and starts making snow angels, still giggling.

The girl in the polka-dotted beanie spots us watching her. Her eyes lock on Eevie’s and she tromps through the snow right up to us wearing a bright, warm smile. She has dark hair like Eevie’s and soft, chocolate brown eyes like Lincoln’s, and despite the cold around us, her smile makes me think of sunshine.

“Hi!” She says. “I’m Glacey! What’s your name?”

I give Eevie a chance to answer. One moment. Two. But she stays silent as ever. 

“This is Eevie.” I answer for her. “Eevie kom...” I start out of habit but suddenly stop myself. Because this little girl did not introduce herself as ‘Glacey kom Azgeda.’ And the way she’s looking at Eevie, I don’t think she cares one bit where Eevie’s from. Because she has eyes like Lincoln’s. And she doesn’t see the streaks of black on Eevie’s face or notice that Eevie doesn’t have colorful mittens or a scarf or a polka-dot beanie. Because she has eyes like Lincoln’s, and all she sees is another little girl, someone who might want to be her friend. 

And if this girl can just be ‘Glacey,’ maybe right now Eevie can just be ‘Eevie.’

“Wanna play with us, Eevie?” Glacey asks, eagerly. “We’re having a snowball fight and those cheaters keep teaming up on me and I need a friend.”

Eevie looks up at me tentatively, and though she doesn’t say a single word, I’ve gotten used to reading her eyes and the different ways she chews her lips. And I know she longs to join Glacey. I suddenly notice that Eevie’s hand still clings to mine. And I realize, that since Lincoln’s, Eevie’s hand is the only one that has felt right against my skin. 

“Go ahead.” I say, releasing her fingers. “A snowball fight sounds like a whole lot more fun than what I have to go do. You’d be bored real fast if you stuck with me.”

Eevie cautiously takes the girl’s outstretched hand and lets her lead her towards the others, practically skipping as she drags Eevie along behind her. The new friends run and bend to pack snow in their tiny hands, giggling as they launch the balls at one another, missing far more often than they find their targets. Eevie and Glacey are still holding hands as I step onto the front porch of the lodge, and through the falling snow, if I squint hard enough, I cannot tell which laughing girl is Trikru and which is Azgeda. 

“You know, Octavia kom Trikru...” I jump at the woman’s voice. She is sitting on a chair on the porch just a few feet from me, draped in a thick fur blanket, watching the children play and the snow fall. She has curly white hair and wrinkles around the eyes hiding behind a thick pair of glasses. She is tiny, but she sits proud, erect, almost regally in her chair.

“All children are born with perfect eyes.” The woman tells me. “And I’m not talking about whether or not they need specs.” She adds with a chuckle, pointing to the thick rims crossing the bridge of her nose. “What I mean is that they see the world clearly. They still look at it with wonder. They see the magic in the unique crystals of every snowflake, the wild beauty in a raging blizzard. And they still see the magic and the beauty in one another.”

“I’m not sure at what age we teach our children to see the differences in one another.” She sighs. “Or at what age we teach them to fear what is different and to hate what they fear and to destroy what they hate. Because no little girl is born with hate in her heart. No... Hatred is something we learn along the way.”

I’m not sure how to respond to this woman’s random commentary on human nature. And I’m not sure if I entirely agree with her assessment. I don’t know if hatred is something that we are taught or if maybe it is something that is programmed into us from birth and just doesn’t develop until later on in life, like wisdom teeth or armpit hair.

And I think of Glacey’s eyes and Healer Orna’s eyes... Lincoln’s eyes. And I know that children, and the special few of us adults, the best of us, look out at the world and see wonder and magic and beauty. But I’m not sure this woman has it right about them seeing the world more clearly. Because the world is NOT just full of wonder and magic and beauty. It is full of heartache and hatred, injustice and brutality, suffering and pain. And I think that children don’t see clearly at all, because they have not yet had their eyes opened to the ugliness in the world.

“They don’t see clearly.” I blurt out. Because my mind was thinking it and, for some stupid reason, my tongue decided to make that known. “They’re blind. They haven’t seen how ugly the world can be... How ugly people can be. They’re blind.” I repeat.

“Sometimes it is the blind who see most clearly, Octavia kom Trikru.” The woman replies, cryptically. “Sometimes it is only the deaf who know how to listen. But...” She pauses, gathering the folds of her blanket into her arms and rising to her feet. “Where are my manners? Please... Come in. Let us find warmth from winter’s chill together.”

I follow her into the massive front room of the lodge and take a tentative seat in a gleaming, elegantly carved wooden chair beside a large, roaring fire. Its warmth sinks through my clothes and seeps into my skin like liquid sunshine. The woman offers me a steaming mug as she sinks into a seat across from me, looking absolutely relaxed.

“I take it you are Queen Atawa kom Azgeda?” I ask, just to confirm that I’m not wasting my time just visiting with some random old woman who speaks in riddles. 

“Guilty as charged.” She chuckles. “Though I’m still getting used to the whole ‘queen’ part of it. For seventy-one years I was simply Atawa kom Azgeda. Never expected to receive a new name at this age.”

She pauses to take a sip from her own steaming mug and, not sure what else to do or say, I copy her. The amber liquid tastes all at once like apples and cinnamon, cloves and ginger, and maple syrup sweeter than honey. And, judging by the tingly warmth that floods my tummy, I’m guessing this elixir has more than just a touch of whiskey in it. It’s a good thing it’s scalding hot. Because, even as I feel the tip of my burnt tongue shrivel in on itself, I’m still tempted to chug the whole mug down. 

“I’m very glad you have come, Octavia kom Trikru.” Atawa continues, growing serious. “I know a lot of people would rather Azgeda did not receive the serum you carry with you. And I daresay you might just be one of those people. A lot of people hate Azgeda... And for good reason.” 

“You see,” she sighs, sadly. “The cold has a way of seeping into one’s heart and if it is allowed to linger, the heart itself grows cold... Becomes ice... Becomes stone. For generations, leaders like Queen Nia and her son, Arlen, taught our people that a frozen, stone heart is a strong heart... One that cannot be broken or overpowered. And because of those teachings... Azgeda has brought a lot of ugliness into this world. And undoubtedly, we deserve to be punished for the damage we have wrought, for the beauty we have destroyed, the lives we have taken and the blood we have spilled.” 

“But there is also so much here that is worth saving.” She adds. “Because... You see... The truth is that the world has both beauty and ugliness in it. They go hand in hand, like light and darkness... And it takes knowing one to understand the other.”

She pauses thoughtfully. I wonder if she is giving me a chance to comment. But again I have nothing to say. 

“So it goes with so many of the best things in life...” She continues. “For instance, you can’t know the freedom that comes with forgiveness until you first understand the full weight of the burden of carrying the anger inside.”

At those words I stiffen in my chair, but Atawa doesn’t seem to notice. She just continues on with another commentary on human nature. All I came here to do was fulfill my promise to Indra... to drop off the damn Nightserum and get the hell out of here. I didn’t come here to listen to an old woman’s rambling. But regardless, I bite my tongue, and I find the words seeping into my ears.

“You can’t experience the joy of healing until you’ve been properly broken. You don’t understand the value of a friend until you’ve known the pangs of loneliness. You can’t experience the rush of finding courage and strength within yourself if you’ve never been paralyzed by fear. You don’t know what it’s like to finally find home unless you’ve known what it feels like to wander around lost. You can’t be filled until you’ve known emptiness... And you can only find the beauty of hope if you’ve known the ugliness of despair.” 

“Beauty and ugliness... They go hand in hand.” She repeats. “The world is full of both. And people... Just like the world... Have both the beauty and the ugliness within them. And really... How you see the world... How you see everyone around you... How you see yourself... It all comes down to how good your eyesight is and what you choose to see.”

Atawa finally finishes and I don’t know how to respond. She stares at me from behind her thick, thick glasses and I wonder how the hell it is that she has managed to see right into me. How the fuck does she know that I have been struggling, struggling, struggling with all of this since the moment Lincoln died? No... I think to myself... The truth is I have been struggling a lot longer than that. 

I have always struggled to see the good in the world. I never had eyes like Glacey’s. I never saw the magic and the wonder and the beauty. From the moment they first shoved me into the hole in the floor, all I could see was the ugliness, the darkness. And I only ever saw the beauty when I had Lincoln’s eyes to help me. 

And without Lincoln beside me all I can see again is the ugliness... The ugliness in the world... The ugliness in me. 

And how the hell does this woman know that? How does she know I’m broken inside? It’s one thing for Indra and Clarke to know. But Luna? And Orna? And Roddeck? And now, the fucking queen of fucking Azgeda? Do I have a goddamn sign on my back that says, ‘Help... I’m broken and I don’t know how to fix myself?’ I wonder if this woman is going to lay her wrinkled little hand on my shoulder and I cringe at the thought. But she just grips her mug and stares thoughtfully into the merry flames of the fire.

“Azgeda has caused a lot of ugliness to enter this world.” She continues and now I’m starting to think maybe I’m being paranoid. Maybe she isn’t talking about me at all. Maybe she is still just talking about her people. “But we still have a lot of beauty to offer it. We are like Winter, itself... known for our relentless brutality, our unyielding strength, our cold indifference... But even Winter is beautiful if you have the right eyes to see it.” She pauses, glancing out the window at the girls still playing in the snow.

“The clans have only seen Winter’s harsh destruction. But I wish to change that. We are not a nation of savages. We have hearts just like the rest of you. And though we have been taught by past leaders that a strong heart is a cold heart... a frozen, stone heart... I’ve survived enough winters to have seen that ice and stone both shatter. And the strongest heart is a soft one... A heart that yields and bends and grows and battle’s winter’s chill not by mimicking it and becoming it, but rather by seeking allies against it... Seeking the company of other soft hearts, that they may keep warm together.”

“Please tell Commander Indra kom Trikru that I seek to teach Azgeda’s children to see the beauty and seek the warmth in others and in themselves. And I hope the Coalition can forget Azgeda’s cold ugliness and give us a chance to share our warmth and beauty.”

I stare at the eyes behind the glasses, the sincerity and warmth in them, and the anger smolders within me. Because I wanted to hate Azgeda. I wanted its people, every single one of them, to be punished. I wanted to see the ugliness.

And all I see right now is the beauty.

“Commander Indra has been known to give second chances.” Is all I say.

The old woman smiles and extends a petite hand and I grasp it in my own. “You are always welcome in Azgeda, Octavia kom Trikru. There will always be an open spot for you beside the fire. May your fire burn warm through the long winter... Until we reach the Endless Spring.”

“Until we reach the Endless Spring.” 

 

I step back into the frigid cold and linger on the porch to allow Eevie one more minute of fun before trudging across the yard to collect her. She is breathless when she and Glacey run up to me. Both of the girls have cheeks glowing red from the exertion of play and the nip of the cold air, and they both wear identical smiles. I have never seen Eevie grin, and just like Glacey’s, it makes me think of sunshine. 

“Bye, Eevie!” Glacey says. “Thanks for playing with me.”

I wait for it... I wait for it... I wait for it...

But Eevie does not reply. She gives Glacey one last smile and a friendly wave, and it seems the girl is perfectly happy to accept the silent goodbye. I take Eevie’s cold little fingers in my own and lead her towards the men who have gone to bring “the Shits” back out to us.

 

“Hod up!” I pause in surprise at Atawa’s voice drifting to us through the cold air like snowflakes. I turn and am even more confused to find the tiny old woman looking down at Eevie rather than up at me.

“What’s your name, little warrior?” She asks with a warm smile.

I wait for it... I wait for it... I wait for it...

“Eevie.” I answer for her.

“Eevie.” Atawa repeats softly, kneeling in the snow before the little girl. “My granddaughter, Glacey, insists you come back and visit us again, Eevie. And I’m afraid she is a stubborn little girl who doesn’t ever take ‘no’ for an answer. So you had better do as she says.” She chuckles. 

She pulls a fluffy bright green bundle of clothes from behind her back. She wraps a forest green scarf with white stripes around Eevie’s little neck, then pulls a matching beanie over her wild braids, tucking its soft edges over the tips of Eevie’s ears. “I figure you had better have some proper clothes to keep you warm next time you come. After all, snowball fights are dangerous without the right armor.” She chuckles again, handing green and white mittens to Eevie. 

Eevie doesn’t say anything, but her smile is like the sunshine again as she pulls the mittens on over her rosy fingertips. Queen Atawa gives Eevie a soft pat on the top of her beanie as she rises back to her feet. “Until we reach the Endless Spring.” She calls to me one last time.

“Until we reach the Endless Spring.” I answer and the small smile on my face is the best I can do to say ‘thank you.’

And it is not until we cross from snow back onto soil and rock that I realize Eevie’s hat and scarf and mittens are the color of Trikru’s summer and the color of Azgeda’s winter. And the combination of the two is beautiful.


	33. Sweet and Sour

33  
Sweet and Sour

CLARKE

 

The blackberry exploded between Clarke’s teeth in a mess of juice and seeds and pulp. It was altogether sour, altogether sweet. And before she swallowed it down, she had already popped three more onto her tongue.

“So...” She mumbled through purple-stained lips. “I can eat as much as I want here and not actually consume a single calorie, right?”

Lexa chuckled as she stepped up behind Clarke, wrapped her arms around Clarke’s stomach and nuzzled into the curve of her neck. “You don’t need to worry about calories, Clarke.”

“I’m not worried.” Clarke replied, plucking another fat berry from the vine and holding it over the space above her shoulder. She felt Lexa’s lips close around the offering, the tip of her tongue running slowly along the ridges of Clarke’s fingertips before wrapping around the actual berry. “It’s just that, ever since she got rid of her brace, all Raven ever seems to want to do is go running or jump rope or do fucking burpees. She’s getting so fit, it’s disgusting. And maybe I’m just a little, teensie bit jealous. I mean... You should feel the girl’s six pack... Its ridiculous.”

“I don’t care how flat Raven’s stomach is.” Lexa answered, digging her way beneath the hem of Clarke’s shirt and running her fingertips along the soft skin of Clarke’s stomach. “There’s only one tummy I have any interest in feeling.” She said, giving Clarke’s tummy a playful squeeze in the tickle spot she’d recently discovered drove Clarke crazy.

Clarke swatted at her hand but grabbed it before Lexa could actually pull it away. She tucked Lexa’s fingers into the tight space behind her belt buckle, so that her fingertips would be far away from her tickle spot, but her arms would still be around her. Lexa didn’t fight it. She liked holding Clarke as much as Clarke liked being held. 

“No calories.” Clarke hummed happily as she popped another handful of berries into her mouth. “Though... I suppose if I can’t consume calories here, that means I can’t burn any either, huh? Which is a shame. Because burning calories with you is one of my favorite activities.” She laughed.

“ONE of your favorite activities?” Lexa snickered and Clarke could hear the smirk in it. “I would have sworn it was at the top of your list.” She teased, and Clarke shuddered as Lexa somehow managed to squeeze her way through the tightness of the belt buckle and was slowly, meticulously working her fingertips lower and lower. Because Lexa knew tickling was only the SECOND best way to drive Clarke crazy.

Clarke swatted at Lexa’s forearm this time and Lexa laughed as she pulled her hand free of Clarke’s waistband, leaving Clarke tingling with the ghost of her touch. Clarke swiveled in her arms to face her. 

“Lexa, EVERYTHING I do with you is my favorite activity. Just being here is my favorite activity.” She said, reaching her own fingertips into the space behind Lexa’s belt buckle and giving her a sharp tug forward until they were close enough for their bellies to touch. Until they were close enough for their lips to touch.

“Me too, Clarke.” Lexa sighed happily as she pulled out of the kiss. “Me too.”

Clarke swiveled in her arms again, this time tucking only Lexa’s thumbs into her pants before resuming her berry picking. “Now behave yourself.”

“Or else?”

“Or else I won’t share.” Clarke answered, even as she held another berry into the space over her shoulder.

“I’ll try.” Lexa mumbled through her teeth as she plucked the fat berry from Clarke’s fingers. “But no promises.”

 

“Hey, Lexa...” Clarke began, because it seemed with every answer she got about this mysterious place another ten questions popped into her head.”

“Yes?”

“When I go back to the real world, and we’re not together here... Where are you?”

Lexa rested her chin gently against Clarke’s shoulder, apparently thinking of the best way to answer. A quiet moment passed.

“I’m... On the Other Side.”

“The other side? You mean... Like Heaven?”

“You could call it that.” Lexa answered thoughtfully. “Heaven... The Endless Sea... The Great Horizon... The Land of Eternal Light... The Other Shore... The Endless Spring... It’s a place with many names.”

“What’s it like there?”

Lexa didn’t hesitate this time. “Beautiful.” She said. “Beautiful.”

Clarke waited patiently for her to elaborate, her curiosity absolutely peaked.

“It’s a lot like here, actually.” Lexa said. “Only a lot more crowded.”

“There are others there?”

“Yes, of course.” Lexa chuckled.

“Like who?” Clarke asked, turning again to face Lexa so she could see her properly.

“Well... In MY place on the Other Side, there’s Anya...”

“Wait..” Clarke interrupted. “What do you mean YOUR place? Does everyone have a different place?”

“Yeah... Sort of. It’s kinda like here. How I had the meadow and you had the river... In MY place there’s forest and a peaceful, bustling Polis and everyone I’ve loved and cared about. But there are other places. I imagine for your people it might look like the Ark, or space.”

“Eww... MY place would definitely NOT look like the Ark. Not unless I end up in Hell.” Clarke laughed.

“Naw... You’re too stubborn for Hell.” Lexa teased. “The devil would try to torture you and you would constantly argue and fight with him and he’d get so fed up, he’d throw you back out.” 

“Hey...” Clarke huffed. “Too STUBBORN for hell? You’re supposed to say I’m too good-hearted for hell. Too kind... Too...”

“Caring... Compassionate...” Lexa cut over her, planting a kiss along Clarke’s neck and shoulder with each adjective she listed. “Loving... Gentle... Beautiful... Generous... Selfless... Forgiving... Courageous... And...” She paused to nip at the sharp point of Clarke’s collarbone. “Stubborn.”

“Yeah... I am stubborn.” Clarke admitted with a chuckle. “But Raven called me ornery once and I think I prefer that label.”

“OK, so it’s decided... You’re coming to the Other Side because you’re too ORNERY for hell. So...” She paused thoughtfully. “What would YOUR place look like then?”

“Lexa...” Clarke wrapped an arm around the arms wrapped around her, weaving her fingers around the backs of Lexa’s. “Wherever your place is... That is my place too.”

Clarke didn’t have to turn to see her to know that Lexa was smiling. She could hear it in the simple quiet between them, feel it in the curl of Lexa’s fingertips against her own.

“But I interrupted you...” Clarke said. “Who else will I see when I get to your place. I mean... OUR place?” 

“Well... Really, people can come and go as they please. We can visit others in their places if we like. But most often, I usually run into Anya and Gustus and Aden... Luna’s little brother and Lincoln...”

“Lincoln?” Clarke interrupted, feeling like her brain might explode with all the new information. “You see Lincoln?”

“Yes...” Lexa laughed. “All the time.”

“Can you speak to him?”

“Of course.” Lexa laughed again.

“Could you ask him...” Clarke hesitated, thinking of the sadness in Octavia’s eyes. Clarke remembered how broken she had been after losing Lexa for the second time. But once she had devised the plan to make nightblood, the grief had been eclipsed by hope... powerful, beautiful hope that was like medicine for her soul. And she wished she could share that hope with Octavia. Even just a little piece of it. “Could you ask him to give me a message for Octavia? Whatever he wants to say... I think hearing anything from him would be... I think it would mean everything to her.”

Lexa didn’t say anything. She just nodded with a small smile. And Clarke knew that she understood.

“Thanks.” Clarke murmured as she moved in for another kiss. But almost as soon as their lips locked Clarke pulled back out of it.

Lexa frowned at her in confusion.

“Wait...” Clarke started because another question had popped into her mind. And the rational part of her told her to shove it right back in and forget about it. But the other part of her blurted it out before the rational part could act. “Is Costia with you on the Other Side?”

Clarke frowned at Lexa’s smirk.

“Yes...” Lexa answered. “She is.”

Clarke just stared. Not sure of what to ask next. “And you don’t...” She paused. “You know...”

“Don’t what?” Lexa asked, feigning confusion. Clarke knew it was an act. Clarke knew Lexa knew exactly what she was asking. But Lexa let the silence hang far too long. And now Clarke was glaring.

“Don’t worry, Clarke.” Lexa finally snickered, reaching for Clarke’s tickle spot again. “I already told you... There’s only one tummy I have any interest in feeling.” 

Clarke squirmed away from her touch, anger and relief battling inside of her. She tossed a plump blackberry at Lexa and watched as it exploded on her cheek and slowly oozed its way down her face, leaving a streak of deep purple-red. But Lexa only laughed harder as she pried the sticky berry from her chin and popped it in her mouth.

“You’re so cute when you’re jealous.” Lexa teased her and Clarke huffed as Lexa expertly dodged the second berry before catching the third right between her teeth. Lexa smirked, apparently impressed with her own skills.

“But...” Clarke said in a quiet voice. “You loved her.”

“Yes... I did.” Lexa admitted. “I loved her. But Costia understands... There is no jealousy on the Other Side. There is only compassion and understanding and forgiveness. And she understands... I loved her. But I LOVE you.”

A second passed before Clarke realized that this was the first time Lexa had ever actually spoken those three words aloud. Not that Clarke had ever doubted Lexa’s feelings for her. “Attack her and you attack me...” That was the first of Lexa’s ‘I love you’s.’ And it was followed by a million more. Lexa shouted those three words in huge gestures like swearing fealty and declaring ‘blood must not have blood.’ And she whispered the words through little smiles and soft glances and tender touches. Lexa spoke those words to Clarke with every breath and every beat of her heart. But this was the first time she had ever spoken them with her beautiful voice. And this time, the words left Clarke speechless.

“I love you, Clarke.” Lexa repeated, grasping Clarke’s purple-stained fingertips in her hand. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

And Clarke tried to memorize the sound of those three little words so she could replay them over and over and over again. And she fell against Lexa and melted into the kiss, savoring the sweet and the sour of Lexa’s tongue.


	34. Catch a Falling Star and Put it in Your Pocket... Never Let it Fade Away

34  
Catch a Falling Star and Put it in Your Pocket... Never Let it Fade Away

CLARKE

 

The cold water lapped at Clarke’s ankles, slowly stealing the feeling from her limbs, starting with the tips of her toes and climbing up her shins and she kicked her feet happily through the gentle current, wiggling her toes to keep the pins and needles at bay. She was perched beside Lexa, lounging in the dappled sunlight, drying off on the edge of the long, flat stone that had become one of Clarke’s most favorite places in the entire world, real or not. It was a place unsullied by the touches of pain or suffering or loss. A place which only held memories of joy and love and peace and safety and sheer, absolute, uncontainable bliss. A place where Clarke could breathe. A place where Clarke felt ‘home.’ 

 

Clarke’s muscles were pleasantly tired from the effort of keeping her afloat and fighting the river’s current with her clumsy strokes. Lexa made swimming look as simple as walking, as natural as breathing, as beautifully graceful as dancing. Her movements were so fluid and smooth, it was as if Lexa was not ‘in’ the water, but rather was a part of it. And Clarke felt like an absolute idiot trying, and failing, to mimic her motions. But Lexa was patient. And she seemed to find Clarke’s awkward flailing more adorable than pathetic. 

And Clarke was slowly improving. And she knew that if the pair of them could just stay focused, she’d probably have been able to hold her own in the water by now. But Clarke was still flailing her way through the shallows because it seemed, more often than not, either student or instructor got completely sidetracked and never failed to lure the other into her sweet, sweet distraction.

Honestly... Clarke thought to herself... who could possibly stay focused on staying afloat with Lexa standing naked beside them, grasping their hips in her long, slender hands? And when she said things like ‘backstroke’ and ‘breaststroke,’ how could Clarke NOT make stupid jokes or insist they practice those skills OUTSIDE the water just to make sure Clarke had properly mastered them before applying them in the water? 

Anything could trigger the distraction... one silly joke, one slip of Lexa’s fingers along the slick curves of Clarke... if the sunlight glowed just a little too brightly in Clarke’s golden hair or sapphire eyes, if the water’s chill made Lexa’s nipples just a little too perky, if it was sunny and the heat made them drunkenly giddy, if it was cloudy and the chill made them seek each other’s warmth, if the stars were shining and the fireflies were out and the golden glow was intoxicating... one wrong smile, one wrong giggle, one wrong glance, and all of a sudden instead of swimming, they were drowning in each other again.

And as much as Clarke longed to learn how to swim, she’d decided drowning was not such a bad way to go after all. And it was the moments of drowning that were keeping her afloat.

 

The sun on her cheek was as warm and soft as Lexa’s hand resting lazily on her thigh. And she leaned back and let both caress her as she listened to Lexa’s gentle humming. The melody sounded so familiar to Clarke but she couldn’t quite place it. It made her think of her childhood, which confused her because it also made her think of feeling loved and happy and safe... Feelings that were rare for a child growing up on the Ark. Her inability to place the memory was bugging the back of her mind, but she would never ask Lexa to stop. Lexa could hum a rendition of the ‘funeral march’ or the ‘itsy bitsy spider’ on repeat or the entirety of ‘99 bottles of beer on the wall,’ and her voice would still be so beautiful, so soothing, so mesmerizing, that Clarke would never ask her to stop. 

Clarke watched as a butterfly broke from the swarm fluttering over the river’s surface and lighted on her kneecap, its wings shimmering sunflower yellow and pumpkin orange and the boldest shade of magenta. Lexa’s fingers lifted from her thigh and reached for the tip of a wing but the butterfly just flittered back into the fold, effortlessly rejoining the dance.

Suddenly Lexa took a deep breath, as if preparing to slip from the rock and dive back into the water. But instead, she just bypassed the messy heap of Clarke’s scrunched and half inside-out clothing and dove her hand into the neatly folded stack of her own. And she pulled a small folded slip of paper from the pocket of her coat.

“I made Lincoln write it down because I didn’t want to miss any of it, and because... Well... It didn’t feel right for me to hear it.” She sighed, handing the tiny square of folded paper to Clarke.

“Were you practicing your origami skills, or what?” Clarke teased. “Next time, make it a swan.” She laughed, because the weight of Lexa’s sigh was too heavy in the air and the weight of the tiny paper was nearly impossible for her palm to bear. 

Lexa ignored her stupid attempts at levity. “I’m afraid you won’t be able to take it with you when you go back. So you’re going to have to memorize it as best as you can before you go.” 

Clarke stared down at the note she knew held a thousand little intimacies that were never meant to be shared with her eyes or her ears or her soul. And she understood why Lexa had folded it twenty times more than was necessary. Because she could not bear to see the words tucked carefully away inside. She didn’t want to catch even a glimpse of a corner. And Clarke wondered, nervously, if maybe Lincoln had drawn something inside. And she wondered if she could possibly reproduce it with the same tender care of an artist in love.

And she wondered what she could possibly say, what she could possibly draw, if all she could ever offer Lexa was a single piece of paper. And she felt so grateful to have Lexa, solid and if not exactly ALIVE, at least breathing at her side. So grateful... And so guilty. Because, after years and years of the off-suited jack and nine, for once in her life, Clarke had flipped her cards to pocket aces. For once, Life had put away it’s whipping stick and, instead of a beating, had given Clarke the one thing she wanted more than anything in the world. And it was more than she deserved. And she wished she could give Octavia more than just a thin, dry piece of paper.

 

Clarke ran her thumb in circles over the face of the square, she pricked the tip of her pointer finger against it’s fat corners, she closed her fist around it and opened it and closed it again. She did anything she could think of to delay the moment of unraveling its tight folds. And Lexa seemed to sense her hesitation and kindly offered her a distraction. 

“I have a couple of messages for you too, Clarke.” She flashed a shy smile.

“For me?” Clarke replied, completely surprised. “From who?”

“Well...” Lexa took another deep breath and Clarke tried desperately not to let the beautiful rise and fall of her chest distract her. She gave her head a small shake and tried to focus on the words escaping Lexa’s lips. But those soft, plump lips were just as distracting. 

“Finn...” Lexa continued, and suddenly Clarke found her focus. “Finn says...” Lexa paused and Clarke got the sense that every fiber in her being was fighting the jealousy, fighting to keep the grimace off of her face, fighting to keep the bitterness out of her voice. And absolute affection for Lexa battled the sadness and the nervousness within her at the prospect of hearing Finn’s words. 

“He says... He says he loves you. And he’s sorry. And he never wants you to blame yourself for... Well...” Lexa paused again, wringing her hands in front of her, nervously. “For... What happened...”

At the look in Lexa’s downcast eyes, Clarke pulled her feet from the waters, tucked them into the folds of her legs and swiveled to face Lexa. She leaned in close enough to force Lexa’s green eyes to meet her blue ones, and quickly reached out and took Lexa’s nervous hands in her own. 

“I don’t blame you for what happened either, Lexa.” She spoke, meaning every word, hoping that every syllable sunk through Lexa right from her ears into the depths of her soul. “I don’t blame you. Not even a little bit.”

Lexa gave her a small smile. She looked like she was on the verge of tears now. And Clarke pulled her into her and held her and held her and held her until Lexa found her voice again.

“He also asked,” She continued, clearing her shaky voice. “If you could also tell Raven that he’s sorry and that she always WAS, and always WILL be, his family.”

Clarke bit her lip, fighting back her own tears now, as Lexa continued. “And Wells... Wells says you’d better be practicing your chess skills because he has nothing but time now. And as soon as he sees you again he’s going to... Quote... Clean your clock... Unquote.”

“What a nerd.” Clarke shook her head with a small, sad laugh. “He always kicked my ass at chess when we were kids. I don’t think that will ever change, no matter how hard I practice.... But don’t tell him I said that!” This laugh came more easily and was filled with a bitter-sweetness. “Tell him I said the only thing I need to practice is saying ‘check-mate.’”

“Will do.” Lexa chuckled before growing serious, fixing Clarke with that look of tenderness and understanding that made Clarke feel like Lexa’s piercing green eyes could see straight through her skin and bones and sinew and into her very soul. “I have one more message...”

Clarke waited... Her whole being absolutely longing for whatever was coming next. 

Clarke waited... Her whole being absolutely dreading whatever was coming next. 

“It took me a while to find him...” Lexa started. “He told me to tell you... That he’s proud... He is so, so proud of you.”

Clarke swallowed hard. Her throat was on fire now, tight and dry. The tears were building and it was all she could do to keep them from spilling out of her. Lexa hadn’t said his name. But Clarke could tell by the softness of her voice and the compassion in her eyes... She knew exactly who Lexa spoke of.

“He said he’s proud of your strong mind.” Lexa said, placing her soft hand on the crown of Clarke’s head. Then she let her hand drop to Clarke’s chest so that her fingers lingered in the valley of her breastbone. “And he’s proud of your beautiful soul and your kind heart.” She finished, letting her hand fall to rest gently on Clarke’s knee. 

“And he said he’s sure glad you got your mother’s stubborn streak, because it allows you to follow all three no matter how difficult.” Clarke didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh or cry, or maybe both. And before her body could decide, Lexa spoke again.

“And he said... He said to tell you that from the very first moment he held you in his arms he knew he had caught a falling star.”

“He used to sing that to me... When I couldn’t sleep... When the nightmares came.” Clarke whispered as the first tear fell. Because now she knew why Lexa’s humming had sounded so familiar. And why the melody had made her feel safe... Loved... Happy. 

“And I told him,” Lexa continued. “That was exactly how I felt the first time I held you, the girl who fell out of the sky and knocked me right to my knees. The girl who shined so brightly I never thought I could possibly catch her.” Lexa smiled, laughing shyly. 

“And he... He kissed me on the forehead. And he... He thanked me for being there to hold you so that you would never fade away. And he said it was now MY job to kiss away the fear and sing away the nightmares. And... And... I really like your father, Clarke.”

The tears were falling freely now, and Clarke didn’t bother trying to wipe them away as Lexa wrapped her arms around her and held her and held her and held her.

“Thank you, Lexa.” Clarke whispered, because other than Lexa’s own heart and soul and flesh, this was the best gift Clarke had ever received.


	35. Friends

35  
Friends

OCTAVIA

 

I find Clarke in the mess hall at a table with Jasper and Harper. And the three of them are laughing so freely, I half expect to find them passing a bottle of Jasper and Monty’s moonshine around, despite the fact that the morning sun still burns brightly outside. Clarke spots me coming towards them and abruptly the laughter stops. And I almost feel guilty, like my mere presence is a party pooper. Part of me wishes I could sit down with them and drink and laugh and just fuck around like we used to, back when we were just a bunch of unwanted delinquent kids sent to Earth to die... Back when we were friends... Back when we were something like a family. But I feel like I barely know who Jasper and Harper, and even Clarke, are anymore. I feel like I barely know who I am anymore.

And the desire to sit with them is immediately stamped out by Jasper’s small wave and Harper’s even smaller smile and the look of understanding in Clarke’s eyes. Because apparently I’m wearing the fucking sign taped on my back again. Because, just like everyone else, these three know that I am broken. And I just want to drink and laugh and fuck around, but I know that all I will get here is more awkward, uncomfortable attempts at sympathy and I don’t think I can stomach anymore of that. 

“Hey, Octavia.” They call out to me in quiet, yet overly cheerful, voices, as if I’m some senile old woman on a sick bed.

“Raven here?” I ask, by way of greeting.

“No.” Clarke answers. “She’s at the mansion with Monty cooking up more serum. But she left Trishana’s batch for you over in C Hanger. I’ll walk with you.” She offers.

“I know how to get to C Hanger, Clarke.” I spit before I can stop myself, and my tone is venomous and immediately I wish I could suck the words back into me and swallow them down to where they can only hurt me. But whether or not my words stung her, Clarke doesn’t show the hurt.

“It’s a big batch. I’ll help you get it loaded.” She says with a shrug, as if accompanying me is nothing more than a way for her to earn herself a Girl Scout’s merit badge. But I am not fooled. I know she is offering me so much more than just saving me a trip or two of hefting the jugs of serum out to the horses. I have plenty of Trikru men outside who could help me. I don’t need Clarke. I could spit more poison at her until she leaves me. But I just hold my tongue and let her walk along beside me.

And I know I should be grateful for her company. Because, since Lincoln died, Clarke has been nothing but kind and compassionate and understanding to me. And maybe it is because I know that she is all of those things that I have been nothing but a shit to her in return. Maybe it is because I know only weeks ago she was broken just like me, but it seems that Clarke has somehow put herself back together just fine. Clarke can laugh and smile and fuck around without everyone around her worrying that she might just break or fall apart or explode if they speak too loudly or smile too big. 

And Clarke knows how to forgive... Even shits like me. And I think of my last personal encounter with her and how I yelled and yelled. And I know I should apologize. I WANT to apologize. But still I just hold my tongue.

We turn a corner into an empty corridor and suddenly Clarke grabs my wrist and pulls me to a stop beside her. She releases my arm quickly, as if she knows I don’t want to be touched. But her intense blue eyes hold me just as tightly as her fingers had. 

“I have something for you.” She says, swallowing hard, her fingers fidgeting nervously with the hem of her shirt.

“It’s from...” She pauses, now rocking back and forth between her heels and her toes as if fighting the urge to run down the hall and leave me confused and alone in the semi-darkness. “It’s from... Well... It’s from Lincoln.”

“What?” I ask, completely taken aback. What does she mean she has something from Lincoln? Something he left with her before he died? Something she’s been holding on to this whole time? Or is it something she just found? “What?” I repeat, stupidly.

“OK... I haven’t really told everyone yet...” Clarke begins awkwardly, as I just stare at her in confusion. “But Raven helped me... Helped me... We put the flame in my neck.” She finally blurts out. 

“The flame?” I ask, still completely confused. What does that have to do with anything? “I thought you said the flame was destroyed along with the City of Light...”

“Well... It KIND OF was.” Clarke confesses in a tone that suggests she’s trying to reassure her own guilty conscience. “I didn’t lie, EXACTLY. The City was destroyed. And both versions of ALIE. And I didn’t know for sure if the flame would even work... But, the flame wasn’t destroyed and the spirits of the Commanders are still in it.”

“You kept the flame for yourself so you could try to visit Lexa.” I say and it is neither a question nor an accusation. It’s simply a realization. I still have no idea what this has to do with whatever it is that Lincoln left for me. “Did it work?”

“Yes.” Clarke breathes. And she cannot hide the sheer happiness held in that tiny word. And now I understand how Clarke has been able to stitch herself back together so nicely while I am still just a broken, bloody mess. I imagine being able to see Lincoln again... Being able to speak with him... Being able to hold him in my arms. And I want to be happy that Clarke has found her way back to Lexa, but I cannot find any happiness in me.

“Anyway...” Clarke continues. “I can only speak with the past commanders. But Lexa... She can visit others. And I thought... I asked her to...” She pauses her stuttering to pull a tiny square of paper from her pocket. It’s been folded and folded and folded again like a love note passed in class, right under the teacher’s nose.

“Here.” She finally manages to spit out. “It’s from Lincoln.”

I stare at the small square of paper in her palm, struggling to understand... Struggling to believe... Struggling just to breathe.

“I had to write it.” Clarke says apologetically. “It was the only way I could get it to you. But the words... The words are all Lincoln’s.”

I finally reach out and my fingers are shaking slightly as I pluck the note from her palm. But Clarke doesn’t comment on my trembling, or the shimmer of unshed tears gathering in my eyes, or the fact that I’m still holding my breath. I look at Clarke still standing before me, even though I did nothing but try to push her away. And my throat is tight... So tight... With everything I want to say to her. And everything I cannot say.

“Clarke,” I choke out, forcing my swollen tongue into subordination. And now I’M the idiot who is stuttering. “I... I’m... I’m sorry... Sorry for...”

“Hey...” Clarke cuts me off quickly with a smile. And it is not another sad, small, sympathetic smile that I cannot stomach. It is the genuine smile of a friend... A friend who understands everything unspoken... A friend who forgives easily and just wants to smile and see me smile too. “You don’t have to apologize, Octavia. Not to me. All you did was yell at me a little. Honestly, I should count myself lucky you never pulled your sword on me.” She laughs as if I haven’t been pushing and pushing and pushing her away for weeks. She laughs as if there is nothing to forgive. 

I wrap my fingers around Lincoln’s note and I wrap my arms around Clarke. And I hold her for one moment... Two moments... Three... Before I pull away again. And I finally, FINALLY, find the words. “Thanks, Clarke. Thanks.” 

 

*** 

 

The crumpled and creased sheet of paper quakes in my quivering fingers and I have to rest my hand against the solid stillness of my knee to make sense of the curves and straights of Clarke’s letters. The loopy, wild cursive is so different from Lincoln’s small, neat, no-nonsense print, that I struggle to get her voice out of my head as I read. But a few sentences into it and all thoughts of Clarke are gone. All thoughts of anything are gone. There is only Lincoln in my head now. And it is glorious. And it is painful, painful, painful.

 

Octavia,

I don’t really know what to say or where to start. I have so much I want to tell you... And I’m not good at writing letters... And I’m probably just going to ramble... But here goes...

I know you are probably furious with me. Because this wasn’t the way things were supposed to turn out. We were supposed to find peace together. We were supposed to build a home. We were supposed to have an apple tree out front and lilies by our door and a butterfly bush beside the back porch, and stupid chickens running around making a mess, pooping everywhere and scratching up the vegetable patch. We were supposed to have a big, loyal dog and a bunch of little warriors chasing each other around and driving us crazy. We were supposed to have a little girl with your stubborn will and dark hair and hazel eyes and my kindness and patience. We were supposed to have a little boy with my devilish good looks and irresistible charm and your courage and strength. We were supposed to have a home full of laughter and smiles. We were supposed to have a home.

And I know I took that all away. Because you asked me to run away with you, and I chose to stay. You asked me to fight, and I chose to end my fight. But you know I had to. 

I couldn’t run away. I had to make a stand against the hatred and the fear and the anger. Because life is about sacrifice and love and honor. And without these things there is only the ugliness. 

And I didn’t want our children growing up in a world of ugliness... A world where good, kind, honest people run away from the hatred and the fear and the anger. I didn’t want our children to grow up in a world where they had to identify themselves as Kalia kom Triku, or Taiven kom Skaikru or Hollis kom Floukru, but rather in a world where they could just be Kalia, just Taiven, and just Hollis. 

And I’m so sorry I had to leave you. I know what it is like to be left behind. I know the grief can make you feel like you’re broken, shattered into a million pieces that can never be put back together again. I know it can make you feel like part of you is somehow missing, like you’ve been hollowed out until there is nothing but emptiness. I know it makes you feel like you’ll never be whole, you’ll never be filled again. I know it makes you feel weak... So weak.

But you are not weak, Octavia. You are strong... So stubbornly strong. I saw it from the moment you fell out of the sky and crashed into my world... You were always stronger than the others. And when I found you at the bottom of the ravine, a broken muddy mess, you felt so small and fragile in my arms, and I knew in that moment that I would do anything to protect you... I would suffer the death of a thousand cuts, I would take an arrow to the shoulder, a spike through my palm, a bullet to the temple. 

But then you woke up in my cave and you bashed me across the head and tried to escape, more than once, and I realized that you were not someone who needs to be protected. You have fire in you and you have fight in you. And you saved my life as many times as I saved yours, because you were right... We fight together. And I’m sorry I stole that choice from you, because the ability to choose your own death is a rare gift. And I chose mine, because I knew that some things are worth dying for... And love... Love is always worth dying for. Love is more powerful than the anger or the fear or the hatred. And I had to die to fight the ugliness. And now YOU have to LIVE to fight it.

And I know you think if I had never met you, I would still be alive. But, Octavia, you were the very best part of my life. And my only regret is having to leave you.

And I know you feel all alone. But you are not. You are so loved, Octavia. Indra looks at you and she sees the warrior inside of you, and she sees herself in you. And though she tries her damnedest to hide it, I’ve never seen Indra as fond of anyone as she is of you. And Kane looks at you as if you were his own daughter. And Bellamy... I know you blame him for all of this and forgiveness might still be a long ways away... But Bellamy loves you as fiercely as I do, even if he is a total dick. And you are not alone, Octavia. You are loved... So loved. 

And you are strong... So strong. There is no one and nothing strong enough to extinguish your fire, to put out your fight... Except, for yourself. You are the only one strong enough to destroy you. And you are the only one strong enough to put yourself back together, to make yourself whole again. When I was knocked down, you gave me the strength to get back up. And now it’s your turn to get back up again. Get back up... Fight the anger. Fight the loneliness. Fight the emptiness. Get back up and fight. 

You are strong enough. Fight for yourself, because you are worth fighting for. There is so much goodness in you... So much light... So much beauty. You are worth fighting for. You are worth living for. You are worth dying for. 

 

I once told you I wanted you to remember me when I am dead. But I want you to know now, that every time you think of me, I am thinking of you. Because I am ALWAYS thinking of you.

It is always Spring here and every morning the lilies open, white and beautiful, and I think of you. And I watch children playing and laughing and running through the forest in a world without fear or hatred or anger, and I think of you. And when the nights are warm enough I sleep on the soft earth under the trees to feel closer to you. Sometimes in the middle of the night, I forget, and I still reach out for you. 

Because I miss you, Octavia. I miss your soft warmth beside me. I miss my fingers getting tangled in your braids. I miss smelling the forest in your hair and tasting it on your skin. And I miss you nibbling on my bottom lip and your evil teasing giggles as you dragged your fingers so slow and soft along all the right places until I was crazy with my need for you. And I miss driving you to the point where your fingernails would bite into me hard enough to draw blood. 

I miss counting all the colors in your eyes and telling you stupid jokes just so I could watch them roll at me. I miss the fire in your eyes and the stubborn clench of your jaw whenever we argued. And the way you’d pout your lips and make frustrated little huffing sounds whenever I tried to apologize. But no matter how angry you were you always let me plant a kiss on your forehead. 

And I miss you leaping into my arms and letting me lift you until your feet dangled in the air. I miss your cocky little smirk and your mischievous grin and the sound of your laughter and the glint in your eyes when you’d flash me that look to say ‘there’s no one else around.’ I miss being the one who got to hold you while you cry. I miss daydreaming with you and fighting off the nightmares with you. And I miss the feel of your hand in mine and the way it made me feel steady, and grounded, and strong. And I miss the squeeze of your arms around my waste and how it made me feel home. 

And I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.

But I know we will meet again. And you will join me here and this place will become even more beautiful with everything you add to it. And I want you to take your time getting here. I want you to make me wait and wait and wait. Because I will always be here, waiting and waiting and waiting for you.

I love you, love you, love you.

-Lincoln

 

PS... I should have told you this a long time ago... But like I said, I love your angry little huffs. And the way you’d mumble ‘little shit’ under your breath... well... It’s so adorable I couldn’t get enough of it. So, sorry I made you wait so long. But here it is... The secret to Helios’s affections: Cucumbers. The damn horse loves cucumbers. I’d pop chunks in his mouth all the time when you weren’t looking. That’s why he always loved me best. And I’m really sorry. And I’m definitely NOT laughing right now, imagining the fire in your eyes and the angry crinkle between your eyebrows and the set of your jaw and the pout of your lips. And I definitely DON’T find your anger amusing, adorable, or sexy at all. Did I mention I was sorry? If you are still angry when we finally meet again, I will kiss you on the forehead. And once the anger passes, I will kiss you everywhere, everywhere, everywhere else. Give Helios a cucumber and a hard nip on the ear for me. I love you, Octavia. I love you. I love you. I love you. 

 

I read his words a second and then a third time because I do not know what to feel inside. And though I know it is Clarke’s handiwork, my eyes trace and retrace the curves of the lily drawn in the bottom corner of the page until its lines are as ingrained into the backs of my eyelids as the pictures from the pages of Lincoln’s journal. And then I refold the paper along every crease until it is the tiniest of squares again and I hold it in my palm and stare at the trees and the sky and the forest floor. And I stare at nothing at all.

And I search myself. But I still do not know what to feel. And I do not feel the anger. I do not even feel the sadness. I know I should be crying or laughing or smiling, knowing that Lincoln is in a beautiful place and that he waits for me. I should feel strengthened or encouraged by his words. I should feel... Different. But I don’t. I still feel empty. I still feel lost.

I open my palm and consider the square of paper. I could clutch it in my fist forever. I could tuck it into the folds of my coat and keep it beside my heart. Or I could let the wind carry it gently from my fingers and let it drift to the ground and become forever lost in the grass and the mud and the fallen leaves. It would make no difference. Because this paper is just that... Nothing but a piece of paper. 

And Lincoln is still gone. And I am still broken. And, without him by my side I do not think I can find the strength to fight anything anymore. I cannot find the strength to put myself back together again. Because the girl in Lincoln’s letter... The girl with the courage and the strength and the fire and the fight... The girl with the goodness and the light and the beauty inside... The girl that Lincoln loved... I think maybe that girl died with Lincoln, because I cannot find her inside of me now. 

I do not feel strong or brave or good. I do not feel angry or sad or joyful. I do not feel anything. I just... I just miss him. I miss him. I miss him. And maybe I miss her too... The girl with both fight and light inside of her... The girl I was with Lincoln by my side. 

I miss her. I miss her. I miss her. And I cannot find my way back to her any more than I can find my way back to Lincoln. 

And I pull out Luna’s shell and I smash the edges of the folded letter until I can shove it into the shell’s emptiness, filling its hollows. And I just sigh and stare down at my hands and I wish I could ball Lincoln’s words in my fist and shove them into the emptiness in me and fill all my hollows too. I wish it were that easy. I wish it were that simple. But it’s not. It’s not. It’s not.

 

“Octavia? Octavia?” The voice is high, fragile, like the song of wind chimes gently colliding with one another as they dance in the breeze... Tiny and delicate like the mindless chirping of a finch, flittering from branch to branch, greeting the day. It’s a voice I’ve never heard before, I’m sure of it. And yet it sounds so familiar, so hauntingly familiar. 

I look up to see Eevie standing before me, eyeing me with wide, concerned eyes. And I am so surprised to hear her speak, that suddenly I’M the one who is struck dumb. I just stare at her, blinking stupidly, my mouth hanging open, my voice retreating into the depths of me. Because when Eevie speaks again, it hits me. It finally, finally hits me. It shatters against me like a Boudalan rock to my temple, making me reel, making me hallucinate again.

“Octavia... Are you OK?” The voice asks me, but I blink through the blur of my stinging eyes and it is not Eevie’s face that studies me. The hazel eyes, the dark tangles of hair, the voice that is like wind chimes and birdsong... They belong to a different girl... A girl I have not seen in years... A girl I never expected to see again. They belong to a girl who was never wanted, a mistake that was hidden from the world beneath the floorboards... A tiny little shell of a person who whispered “I am not afraid” over and over again when the fear and the loneliness made it hard to breathe, and who never once believed her own lie. 

The girl stares at me... Stares into me. Because I am bigger than her, and older, and I have warpaint streaked across my face and a sword strapped to my back... But this girl is not fooled. Because I am just like her. I am still just a tiny little shell of a person. I am still just a liar struggling to breathe.

 

“Octavia?” The girl says again. And I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head until my brain rattles, and I breathe in and I breathe out. And when I open my eyes, Eevie is staring at me again. Her hazel eyes aren’t wide anymore. They’re narrowed in thought. And she stares at me. And she stares INTO me.  
  
"Octavia... You know how you told me that Lil’ Chief was lonely? And you asked me if I would be his friend?” 

I give her a weak, dazed nod. It’s all that I can manage.

“Well... I know I’m already your second... But... Would it be OK...” She pauses, biting her lip shyly. “Could I be your FRIEND too?”

At her words, the stinging behind my eyelids, the tightness in my lungs, the burning in my throat... It all becomes unbearable. And I barely manage another weak nod before the sob chokes out of the depths of me, wracking my empty shell of a body, until I am doubled over onto my hands and knees. And the tears collect in the corners of my eyes and spill down my cheeks and off my quivering chin. And I’m so shocked by their sudden appearance that I can’t even say for sure why I am crying.  
Maybe I am weeping for the girl who had the light and the fight in her with Lincoln by her side. Maybe I am weeping for the girl trapped in the darkness under the floor. Maybe I am weeping for the girl I am now.

 

Eevie stares down at me with a frown on her tiny face. And I think she wants to ask me to stop crying. And I think she wants to run off into the forest, far far into the trees until she cannot hear my sobs carried on the wind. But she suddenly drops to her own hands and knees before me and she crawls into the space between my chest and the ground. 

And she puts one tiny hand on my shoulder so she can push me up onto my knees. And before I can even think to shrug out from beneath it, she pulls her hand off my shoulder and throws both arms around my neck instead. And She clings to me. She clings. She clings. She clings.

And before I know it, my own arms wrap around her tiny shell of a body. And I cling to her. I cling. I cling. I cling. 

And I feel something rising out of the emptiness inside of me. It is not a heavy, fiery heat. It does not claw at my lungs or gnaw at my heart or burrow into my stomach. It is a warm tingle, a soft prickling. It moves through my hollowness gently, lightly like the quiet stirring of air. It wraps itself around my heart, but instead of crushing it in its fists, it cradles it in its palms. It moves into my lungs, but instead of constricting them, it opens them. And as the tingling spreads through my chest and into my fingertips, I take a deep breath... A miraculously deep breath. And I feel like I’m surfacing from water. It is like opening the door of the dropship, moving from the stale, recycled air of the Ark, and breathing in the scent of pine and bark and damp earth. It is like breathing for the first time. 

And with the girl’s tiny arms wrapped tightly around my neck, I breathe. I breathe. I breathe.

And I know that when she finally releases me, I will still be the same empty shell of a person that I am in this moment. But, for the first time, a tiny thought enters my mind... Maybe Atawa was right... Maybe you cannot know what it is to be filled until you understand how it feels to be empty. And maybe I NEEDED to become empty inside. Maybe that was the only way that I could ever be properly filled again. Maybe by becoming empty I was merely making room inside of me for something new, something better. 

And the warm tingle is still rising within me and spreading through me like a drug. And I finally, finally recognize it. Hope... plain and pure and powerful. 

Hope is erupting within me, gently running through me and finding all of my hollow places, the places of emptiness waiting to be filled. Hope is rising. And I welcome it.


	36. Blades of Steel Forgotten in Blades of Grass

36  
Blades of Steel Forgotten in Blades of Grass

 

OCTAVIA

I follow the chimes of her laughter on the wind and find her in the space between Arkadia’s metal and Trikru’s forest. Her small sword and bow are laying forgotten in the grass beside a patch of half-plucked dandelions. It appears she was fashioning herself a crown of the cheerful white and yellow blossoms when she was interrupted by the offer of something much more exciting, fun, daring.

Eevie sits on his shoulders now, her puffy Arkadia-issued jacket tied around her neck, trailing behind her like a flowing black cape. As I watch, she carefully, tentatively pulls her fingers loose from his mop of dark curls and slowly lets her hands extend on either side of her like wings. Bellamy holds tight to her ankles, keeping her steady as he weaves in wide circles and tight figure eights. And the fear in her quickly gives way to wild, uncontrollable giggles.

Bellamy spots me watching them and the boyish, lopsided grin on his face vanishes as he slows to a stop and lifts Eevie easily from his shoulders, setting her gently on the forest floor. “Alright, Supergirl,” He says, kneeling before her. “I think it’s time for your lessons. No more flying today.”

Eevie wraps her tiny arms around his strong chest and he envelops her in his own thick arms. Then he releases her, gives her a small kiss on the forehead, rises from his crouch, and lightly digs his knuckle into her scalp. “Go on, Lil’ Warrior.” He laughs. “Your teacher is waiting.”

And without a single glance in my direction, he picks his jacket and gun up out of the grass and turns for the gates of Arkadia. 

Eevie runs up to me, and for one instant, it is not Eevie before me, but rather the girl in the floor. And she is grinning and giggling and breathless in the best sort of way. Because the boy who just bid her farewell was the boy with the grin and the laughter and the arms that felt like home... The boy who helped her breathe.

“I’ll be right back, Eevie.” I tell her and she just shrugs happily and plunks down in the grass beside her unfinished crown.

I turn back towards the gates of Arkadia and I am jogging now because I can feel the desperation rising, rising, rising within me. Because I miss him. I miss the boy with the pony rides and the crooked smile. The boy with the arms that pulled me out of the darkness and lifted me onto his shoulders. The boy who read the most boring books... The huge tattered leather books with the weird old smell, and the big words and the names I could never pronounce... The boy who read and read and read to me until the nightmares faded and sleep embraced me again. The boy who teased me until my hands shook with rage and laughed as I tried to beat him, only to pull me into a tight hug and hold me until the shaking stopped and the breathing started again. I miss my big brother.

I miss him. I miss him. I miss him. 

“Bellamy!” I call out and my voice cracks and I know the tears are one wrong look or word from falling.

He stops instantly and turns to face me, his brown eyes wide. They are a mixture of surprise and confusion, sorrow and shame, insecurity and uncertainty, and there, in the midst of it all, the glimmer of hope. He waits for me to find my voice. And I finally force myself to look at him, to TRULY look at him for the first time since the beginning of everything falling apart. And I see the man who never understood me. I see the man who allowed fear and hatred to bring more ugliness into the world through him. I see the man who helped forever shut Lincoln’s kind eyes. I see the man who destroyed my home. I see all of his ugliness. 

But I think of Atawa’s words and I force myself to keep looking, until I can see more than the ugliness. I look until I can see the boy inside. I look until I see the boy who once was my home. I look until I can see the beauty. 

“I don’t know if I can ever forgive you, Bellamy.” I say, because Luna was right... Forgiving is the hardest thing I’ve ever tried to do, I don’t think I will ever master it. “I don’t know if we can ever make things right between us, the way they used to be. But...”

Bellamy stands silently before me. Listening, actually LISTENING. He swallows hard... Waiting for me to continue. 

“But...” I stammer. “I’m ready... I’m ready to try.”

A crooked smile explodes across Bellamy’s face and before I can escape his grasp, he throws his arms around me. And for a moment I allow him to hold me. “Take as long as you need, O.” He says softly as he plants a kiss on my forehead. “I’ll always be right here.” 

His arms are strong like Lincoln’s. His forehead kiss is tender like Lincoln’s. But it is not the same. Still, I let him hold me one moment, two moments, three... Until I almost feel like I am home. It is not my home with Lincoln. It is different. But it is home all the same. One moment... Two moments... Three. And I breathe. I breathe. I breathe. 

Then I wriggle out of his arms and he lets them fall to his sides. And he lets me turn away from him. And he doesn’t grab my wrist or call for me to stop. And he doesn’t follow me as I walk away.

 

*** 

 

CLARKE

 

“Are you working out AGAIN?” Clarke asked, unable to hide the disgust in her voice as she eyed Raven in her bright red, sports bra with her flawless abs and her black tights that so perfectly hugged every muscular curve of her body that they might as well have been painted directly onto her skin. Suddenly feeling guilty, Clarke set down the half-eaten, peanut-butter-and-chocolate-chip cookie she had stolen from Murphy’s stash. She wondered how that boy was still just a lanky stick of a human with all of Emori’s incredible baked goods around him all the time.

“I’m just going for a run.” Raven chuckled. “Why are you looking at me like you think I need to be institutionalized?”

“Didn’t you go running this morning?”

“Yes.” Raven replied, a silent ‘so what?’ implied in her tone.

“Raven...” Clarke put on her most serious face and the part-doctor, part-mom voice she had mastered after years of living under the same roof as Abby. “I think you have a problem. I’m concerned you might have developed an addiction.”

Raven just laughed at her. “Were you planning on visiting Lexa tonight?”

“Yes...” Clarke answered, not sure of what THAT had to do with anything.

“Didn’t you visit her this morning?” Raven cocked a brow. “AND this afternoon?”

Clarke could not help but laugh. The girl had a point.

“You have YOUR addictions, Griffin... I have MINE.”

“Yes...” Clarke conceded. “But... MY addiction makes sense. YOUR addiction...”

“Haven’t you ever heard of endorphins?” Raven asked. “The neuropeptides produced in your pituitary gland that are like natural opioids and...”

“Yes, Raven.” Clarke cut her off with an eye roll. “I know what endorphins are.”

“Research clearly shows that vigorous aerobic activities boost levels of endorphins in the brain. Running is one of the most effective ways to increase endorphin production.”

“Yeah...” Clarke agreed with a laugh. “The key word being ONE of the most effective ways. I don’t care how effective running is... It’s still a fucking miserable way to boost endorphin levels. I know a much more fun way...” She said with a playful smirk. “Come to think of it... MY addiction boosts endorphin levels too.”

“Well... My addiction keeps me sane.” Raven argued.

“So does mine.” Clarke sighed happily.

“Yeah... Well... MY addiction gives me a smoking hot body.” Raven boasted, laughing through her all too cocky smirk as she struck an obnoxiously attractive pose. 

“MY addiction already HAS a smoking hot body.” Clarke countered with her own laugh, chucking the rest of her cookie at Raven in an attempt to break her pose. But of course the cookie crumbled against Raven’s six pack as if it had smashed against a brick wall. And immediately, Clarke regretted throwing it. It was a damn good cookie.

“Hey..” Raven whined, wiping the chocolate streaks from her flat tummy as if worried the calories could magically seep their way right through her skin and into her non-existent adipocytes. 

“Alright.” Raven conceded. “I know my addiction can’t compare to yours. But not all of us have the love of our life constantly waiting just a blink away from our arms.” 

Raven’s words could have been filled with bitterness.They could have been a pointed reminder of Clarke’s role in the death of the boy Raven had once thought was her soulmate. They could have been angry and designed to hurt Clarke. But they weren’t. Whether or not Clarke deserved it, Raven had forgiven her a long time ago. And though Raven had only ever seen the harsh, duty-bound side of Lexa... The Commander who had ordered that same boy’s execution... The Commander who had nearly sentenced Raven to the same fate for a crime she had not committed... The Commander who had abandoned her people at the mountain... Raven had still helped Clarke find her way back to Lexa, simply for the sake of Clarke’s happiness. Because Raven was a better friend than anyone, Clarke included, could ever deserve. 

“You’ve got your soulmate... I’ve got my sneakers.” Raven laughed, holding up her ragged running shoes before plunking down across from Clarke and pulling on her socks.

“Oh, you’ve got more than just your sneakers, Raven.” Clarke smiled. “You’ve got your jump rope, and your pull-up bar, and your six pack, and your smoking hot body... And, in case you haven’t picked up on it yet, I’m pretty sure you have your pick of the boys around here too. Not a single one of them can keep their jaws shut when you walk by in your tight, little sports bras. I swear I’m going to start handing out little blue bibs to each of them.”

“What boys?” Raven laughed skeptically, now lacing up her nasty sneakers.

“All of them.” Clarke answered. “Bellamy...”

“Been there... Done that.” Raven mumbled.

“Jasper...”

“NOT going THERE... NOT doing THAT.” Raven swore adamantly, as if promising the universe, itself, that she would never make THAT mistake. And Clarke only laughed harder at the way her eyebrows pulled back and her lips scrunched at the idea. “Don’t get me wrong... I love Jasper... But NO.”

“Cooper...”

“Who?” Raven asked, genuinely confused.

“Jackson...” 

“Eww...” Raven laughed. “Jackson? Could you imagine how geeky our poor kids would be?”

“They’d win every science fair.” Clarke giggled.

“Yeah... Jackson’s a NO. Besides, everyone knows he’s in love with your mom.”

“Eww...” Now it was Clarke’s turn to grimace. “Don’t say stuff like that.”

“You don’t want Jackson to be your new daddy?” Raven teased.

“Naw... I think I’ll stick with Kane. At least he’s old enough to grow a proper beard. So... Stop changing the subject... None of those boys strike your fancy?”

“Well, you gotta admit, the available boys around here are pretty slim pickings. I mean... Look at you... You decided to pick from the other side.”

“Naw, that wasn’t the reason.” Clarke grinned. “You could line up every eligible bachelor on the face of the planet... And every girl, for that matter. I’d still pick Lexa over any of them. But, you’re right... The options round here are pretty limited. You sure about Bellamy?” She finished, cocking her brow.

“I don’t know.” Raven shrugged. “I think for now I’ll just stick with my sneakers.”

“And your smoking hot body.” 

“And my smoking hot body.” Raven smirked, rising from her seat. She was practically bouncing on the balls of her feet already. 

“Have a good run. I wish you lots of endorphins.” Clarke said, shaking her head in confusion at Raven’s excitement. “Hey... Maybe you should jog through Ton DC. Find yourself a warrior with as many abs as you, if that’s even possible.”

“That’s not a bad idea.” Raven laughed. “Maybe I should. Anyways, I’m out... Give Lexa a kiss for me.” She teased.

“Oh... I’ll give her more than a kiss...”

“OK... Don’t be gross. Actually... Just say ‘hi’ for me. The rest of whatever you choose to give her can be entirely on your behalf.” She paused in the doorway and shot Clarke one last half-cocked grin. “I wish you lots of endorphins.” And with a wink she disappeared.

“Lots of endorphins.” Clarke grinned, as she closed her eyes and focused her mind. And she opened her eyes to bright sunshine and shimmering butterflies dancing on the breeze whirling gently about her. “Lots and lots of endorphins.”

 

*** 

OCTAVIA

 

When I return to her, Eevie is laying in the grass staring up at the open sky, watching Spring’s fluffy white clouds drifting by, the dandelion chain still laying abandoned beside her. I smile down at her. Despite the warmth of the day, she is still wearing the green and white striped mittens that Queen Atawa gave to her a couple of weeks ago. But she has exchanged the scarf for the red checkered bandanna that Roddek gave to her last week when we delivered the serum to Ingranrona.

Like everyone else, the man had taken an instant liking to Eevie and had insisted that we and ‘the Shits’ accompany him on a ride through the open plain to see the mustangs. The plains were no longer brown and dusted white in dirty snow. They were the freshest, brightest shade of green and colored pink, yellow, orange, or white here and there by wildflowers. And the blue sky overhead was streaked in long grayish-white clouds as if someone had tried to patch its wounds with cotton balls pulled thin. And the band of brown and white and black splotched horses running wild and free through the green and the blue was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. 

Roddek had stopped us a good distance from the grazing mustangs so as not to spook them. But Eevie, her hazel eyes impossibly wide with wonder, had ignored his warnings and slowly ridden within mere yards of the band. Then she had silently, confidently hopped from Lil’ Shit’s saddle and slowly approached a beautiful black mare, as black as the serum we had come to deliver, as black as night. And Roddek and I had watched in complete awe as the horse eyed Eevie, pawing gently at the ground as her outstretched fingers inched closer and closer to its side. As soon as fingertips met horsehide, the mustang had whinnied and bolted, taking the entire band across the hillside with it. And Eevie had stared down at her fingertips as if she had just touched something wild and beautiful and... Magical. 

Roddek had told me that he had never witnessed anything like that and had immediately proclaimed that Eevie was a ‘downright, natural, no-doubt-about-it, horse-whisperer,’ even more of a ‘Gapachicha’ than he was, himself. And he had taken off his own bandanna and wrapped it around Eevie’s neck and insisted I bring the ‘Lil’ Wrangler’ back to Ingranrona as often as possible, because she clearly belonged on the plains.

And I had laughed and told him, “I’ll try to bring her round when the Commander doesn’t have me running here, there, and everywhere. But no matter how long she spends on the open plains... Sorry, but Eevie’s Trikru, through and through.” 

 

But, looking down on Eevie now, I think I may be wrong about that. Because Eevie not only wears Roddek’s bandanna around her neck, she also wears a tiny seashell on a rope made from fishing net. And I think of when we delivered the serum to Floudonkru. And how Luna had proclaimed the little girl a ‘natural fisherwoman’ when Eevie had pulled in her tiny net overflowing with squirming silver fish. And how Eevie’s eyes had lit up as she held the tiny shell Luna had given to her in her hands, examining its yellow-white ridges in the golden-orange light of the sun setting over the sea. And she had looked at the shell as if it were something beautiful... Magical. 

And I had watched the reds and oranges and yellows reflecting off the calm glassy surface of the ocean and thought to myself that this was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen. And Luna had ruffled Eevie’s tangled braids even as she pulled her own daughter into her arms, a girl with a gap-toothed grin and more hair than Luna. 

“One day, when you’re older, Lil’ Fisher,” Luna had whispered as she tied the shell around Eevie’s neck, “You can ask Octavia, here, to tell you all about why seashells are special. But until then, tell her you want to come visit Sister Luna and catch some fish by the sea, alright?” And Eevie had nodded.

And Eevie has certainly kept her promise to Luna. She asks me when we can go visit Sister Luna by the sea almost as often as she asks when we can visit Roddek and Rashanna and the wild horses. But even more often, she pesters me about going back to the “moon forest,” as she calls it, to visit Malika. And though it is bright and sunny today, Eevie still has the thin, spindly branches of the Natsoncha trees woven into her tangled braids as if she is expecting night to fall any second now and wants to be ready when the darkness comes. 

As soon as we had entered the edges of Trishana, Malika had leapt from a tree, appearing before us grinning and clutching three bows in her fists, two normal sized and one clearly miniature, though still as elegantly fashioned as its larger counterparts. And after dropping off the serum and instructions with Turlino, Healer Orna, and Teeko, Malika had taken us to an archery range perched in the treetops. And she had shown us how to load the arrow and hold the bow still while we breathed, and how to anchor the string against our lips as we sighted our targets. And I loved the feel of the riser in my palm and the burn of my tricep as I pulled the string so taut I could feel the energy building in it, waiting... Itching, itching, itching for the moment of release.

But I was a horrible shot. And I was not at all surprised when Eevie hit the target on her first try and hit the bulls-eye on her fourth. And I just shook my head and smiled as Malika declared Eevie was a natural-born archer, as good as she had been at her age, after years of practicing. And Malika had insisted we both come back. She promised she could have Eevie shooting rabbits through the eye in no time. And she promised me that, if I gave her lessons in swinging a blade, she could MAYBE have me grazing the edges of the target someday. 

And I remember how Eevie had looked at the glowing twigs in Malika’s hands like they were something beautiful... Magical... as Malika had woven them into her hair. And I had looked at the two girls wearing tinsel made of moonlight and grins made of sunshine in the eerie silver-white glow of Trishana’s forest and I had thought to myself that this was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen.

“May the light ever guide you Lil’ Archer.” Malika had whispered before stepping back onto the platform and shouting into the treetops. “Pull me back up, Teeko! Damn it, Teeko, PLEASE pull me up. I swear I will still stab you with a scalpel...” And the laughter and affection burning in my chest almost felt like some of the forest’s glow had seeped through my skin and found its way inside of me.

 

And I look down at Eevie now, with her Arkadia-issued jacket and her mittens and her bandanna and her seashell necklace and the twigs in her hair and, strange as the combination is, it ALL seems right on her. And I cannot say if she is Eevie kom Trikru or Eevie kom Azgeda or Floudonkru or Ingranrona, or Trishana, or even Skaikru. Because the truth is that Eevie fits in everywhere she goes. And she is accepted and loved everywhere she goes. And I think I finally understand what Lincoln envisioned for our children. Because Eevie is all of those things and she is none of those things. She is Eevie kom Graunde. She is simply, Eevie.

We are supposed to be practicing her swordsmanship, but Eevie is lying in the grass at the edge of Trikru’s forest, staring into the endless sky and she looks so at peace right now that I decide our practice can wait. After all... The clans are at peace right now too. And Eevie, just like with everything else, is already a natural with Trikru steel in her tiny fists. So I just plop down beside her in the grass and stare up into the brilliant blues and whites edged by green treetops, and I breathe and I breathe and I breathe. 

And I know I will never have Lincoln’s eyes, but I am training myself to look past the ugliness in the world and seek out its beauty. And the anger still rises in me occasionally. But when it does, I finger the ridges of Luna’s shell and I try to think of every good memory and everything I’ve loved and I practice looking past the ugliness in people too. I practice seeking their beautiful parts and I realize that THAT is what it means to forgive. 

I practice forgiving and I feel the broken parts of myself coming back together again, stapling themselves at the seams. I still have about as much skill at patching myself up as Murphy had with the staple gun, and I imagine sloppy, jagged scars running across my insides as messily as those Murphy drew into my skin. But the wounds on the outside have healed, and I know in time that the ones on the inside will too. And I’m OK with the marks left behind because they remind me of the pain I’ve overcome and the promise that even the broken parts can be rebuilt into something strong... Something beautiful. 

And I am not completely healed or whole or filled. I don’t know if I ever will be. But I am not completely broken or empty either. I have moments of loneliness and bitter tears... And I have moments where I let others in, where I allow myself to love and be loved... Moments of shared smiles and laughter... Moments of the wonder and beauty and magic of friendship.

And there are times I still feel lost without Lincoln by my side... Moments where I am searching for my home. And there are times like these, where I stare at the treetops grazing the blue, the beauty of Sky meeting Earth, and I lose myself in the wonder... and Eevie’s tiny fingers find my own and I wrap my hand around them... and it feels like I am home. 

And I know my true home waits for me in a forest lined with lilies. And he will greet me with a hug that lifts my feet from the forest floor until I feel like I am lost and floating. Then he will plant a kiss on my forehead that will leave me feeling grounded and steady. But for now I have no home... And I have many homes. 

My home is in Polis at Indra’s side. And my home is in Arkadia with the people who I first called “family.” My home is by the endless blue-gray sea with Luna and it’s under the endless blue-gray sky on the plains with Roddek and Rashanna. My home is in Ton DC beneath the trees and in Trishana up in the branches with Malika. My home is beside the fire with Atawa. My home is my fingers tangled in Helios’s mane and my home is Eevie’s fingers tangled in mine. My home is wherever I can find the wonder and the magic and the beauty. And I finally understand... My home is in myself.

Because at times I am ugliness. And at times I am beauty. I am anger and grief and fear. And I am light and fight. And I am compassion and courage and strength and joy and powerful, powerful hope. 

Because I am neither broken nor whole. I am somewhere in the messy, beautiful in-between. And I think maybe this is where I was always meant to be. 

 

***

 

CLARKE 

“YOU’RE the one who suggested this.” Lexa reminded her.

“I know...” Clarke groaned, letting the sword fall from her aching fingers and plunk to the ground beside her as she shook the burn from her triceps. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. But I think I’ve changed my mind. I mean, the clans are at peace, after all. And with another stubborn Trikru woman on the throne, I think it might just stick for a while. And my arms are tired.” She whined.

Lexa just stared, her eyebrows lifted and her lips slightly puckered, clearly unimpressed with Clarke’s excuses. 

“Besides... I have a better idea.” Clarke flashed a wicked smile. “Let’s practice our riding.”

“You want to ride through the meadows again?” Lexa replied cheerfully.

“No.” Clarke answered, cocking her goofy smile to one side and wiggling an eyebrow. “I mean... That was beautiful and all. But, I was thinking THIS time we could practice riding on our own... Without the horses.” 

“You’re ridiculous.” Lexa answered, trying to hide her own silly smile as she shook her head at Clarke. “OK... Tell you what...” She negotiated. “You stay focused just a little longer and I’ll let you practice riding afterwards. I’ll even give you the reins.” She added with her own devilish smirk, now wiggling HER eyebrows in the dorkiest, most adorable way.

“God, I love you.” Clarke half laughed, half sighed. She tried to move in for a kiss, but Lexa expertly side-stepped her, snagged the sword from the ground, and flipped it high through the air above her so that she could catch it by the blade’s end. She thrust the handle towards Clarke. 

“Focus first.” She commanded.

“I’m horrible at this.” Clarke moaned through a pouty huff as she reluctantly wrapped her fingers around the hilt.

“You’re not THAT bad.” Lexa reassured her, resuming her place behind Clarke, wrapping her arms around Clarke’s so she could guide them. She planted a quick kiss on the nape of Clarke’s neck in an attempt to make up for her inability to hide the laughter in her voice. “I’ve had worse students.”

“Really?” Clarke asked hopefully.

“Well... OK... I’ve had ONE worse student.” Lexa admitted. “And of course she was seven years old and about three feet tall...”

“HORRIBLE.” Clarke repeated with a sigh.

“You just need to get a little more arc in your movements.” Lexa said, trying to force Clarke’s heavy arms into a graceful semi-circle above her. “Just try raising the blade a little higher. You know... Like OVER your head, maybe.” Lexa wasn’t even trying to hide the laughter now. 

“It’s heavy!” Clarke protested for the third time, letting the blade fall from her fingertips again and swiveling in Lexa’s arms to give her a proper pout.

Lexa scrunched her lips, pulling them to one side and furrowing her brows pensively as she looked Clarke up and down. It was almost the exact same look Raven would wear when examining beneath the rover’s hood each time the engine decided to act up again. It usually ended with Raven cursing under her breath and beating her tools against various parts of the car’s insides. And Clarke was glad Lexa didn’t have a wrench in her hand.

“I think we need to work on your upper body strength, Clarke.” Lexa announced, putting her hands on her hips, confident in her diagnosis. “Maybe next time Raven drops to the floor and starts pumping out push-ups, you should quit heckling her and join her instead.”

“Yeah, right!” Clarke laughed. “The last time I did push-ups was in gym class on the Ark. And that was only after Mr. Wimmer threatened to fail me. Did I mention P.E. was the only class I didn’t receive top marks in? I mean... Top after Raven of course. She was top of EVERY class, including P.E.. But I was always second after her. Except for gym... The only kid on the Ark with worse coordination than me was Jasper. And that’s only because he was high half the time. Push-ups.” She laughed again, shaking her head at the absurdity of the suggestion.

“Besides...” She continued. “Ever since she discovered the bar hung down in the man-cave, Raven does more PULL-ups than PUSH-ups. And the day I’m strong enough to do a pull-up is the day YOU’RE strong enough to resist me.” She smirked, pushing in closer to Lexa.

Lexa took the tiniest step back. “Who says I’m not strong enough to resist you?” She protested. “I WAS the Commander of the Clans, you know...”

“Who says?” Clarke teased. “Let’s see... My fingers say so...” She reached around Lexa, pulling her closer so that she couldn’t back up, and edging her fingers beneath her shirt to climb their way slowly up the back of her ribs. 

“My tongue says so...” She continued, again moving in for a kiss. Again she was denied.

“Maybe I’ve been working on MY strength.” Lexa cut her off, dodging the kiss.

“Yeah? Is that so?” Clarke laughed, pulling Lexa in closer again. Close enough for her to whisper in Lexa’s ear. “Maybe we should give it a test. Resist this.” She dared her, snagging the earlobe between her teeth. Clarke had planned to start with the earlobe and work her way inch by inch down Lexa’s long neck, but she didn’t even make it past the edge of the jawline.

“Resist THIS.” Lexa challenged. And before Clarke knew what was happening, Lexa had swept a leg behind her knees and thrown her weight against Clarke’s shoulders so that Clarke suddenly found herself lying flat on her back in the soft grass. In one effortless, fluid movement, Lexa had dropped Clarke, pinned her to the ground, and straddled her before the gasp of surprise could rush from Clarke’s lungs. She leaned over Clarke, her dangling hair tickling Clarke’s cheek as her lips found CLARKE’S earlobe now. And she began slowly... Slowly... So painfully slowly... Working her way down Clarke’s neck.

“Hey...” Clarke protested in between breaths. “You said you would give ME the reins.”

“I guess you will have to fight me for them.” Lexa snickered, now gently biting her way along the ridge of Clarke’s collar bone. 

Clarke bucked her hips, trying to throw Lexa. But Lexa had her expertly pinned. She couldn’t even move her arms, let alone wiggle out from under her. 

“That’s not fair.” Clarke replied, half giggling, half whimpering in blissful anguish as Lexa snagged the hem of Clarke’s shirt with her teeth and pulled it up to expose her belly. She set to work nipping along the edge of Clarke’s hip bone. “I guess you’ll have to teach me combat skills next.”

“I don’t know...” Lexa giggled, dragging her lips closer and closer to Clarke’s infamous tickle spot. “I kind of like having you helpless.”

“Lexa...” Clarke breathed. And now it was a full whimper... A plea. Because Lexa was torturing her, purposefully driving her to the edge of sweet insanity. Clarke struggled to rise beneath her. She needed to wriggle her arms free. She needed to pull Lexa’s lips to her own. She was drowning again, and she needed air. “Lexa...”

But, like always, Lexa seemed to know exactly what Clarke needed. And though she kept her arms securely pinned, Lexa mercifully slid her way up Clarke until their lips finally met. Clarke’s lips moved hungrily, desperately, and Lexa pulled back, taking Clarke’s bottom lip along with her. And Clarke knew Lexa wanted to set the pace. And it was all she could do to lay back and let Lexa have full control. 

Lexa’s kiss was deep and slow, tender and teasing, without a hint of urgency in it. She moved the tip of her tongue around Clarke’s mouth slowly, as if studying it, committing every part of it to memory. And Clarke just closed her eyes and let herself feel every bit of this moment.

Because Lexa’s kiss was the kind that spoke of a million more to come. It was the kind of kiss that said ‘we have nothing but time,’ and ‘I’ll always be with you,’ and ‘you’ll never lose me again... Never, ever, ever.” 

This kiss was like an unspoken promise. And it was the kind of kiss that filled Clarke to the core, that satisfied every longing within her, from her burning flesh to her aching soul. And it was the kind of kiss that only ever left her craving more. 

And Clarke was dizzy with hunger, half-crazy with wanting. But she let Lexa take her time. Because Lexa was right... They had nothing but time now. 

And Clarke knew that it was only a matter of time before the world went to shit again, because the world was always going to shit. And maybe Clarke would find a way to fix everything again. And maybe she wouldn’t. But Clarke realized it didn’t really matter either way. Because Lexa was right... Clarke would ALWAYS have Lexa. And she would never, ever, ever lose her again.

And Lexa was right... Death was not the end. They had met in the life before death. And they would meet again in the life after death. And for now, Clarke and Lexa lingered in the beautiful, blissful in-between. Because everything in the world could perish... Everything else could fall away... But there would always be sky above and there would always be earth below. The two were formed together, designed to meet at every jagged and soft and perfect edge. And NOTHING, not even Death himself, could ever separate them.


End file.
